A King is Born
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: The hopes and dreams of humanity are to be fulfilled in one lowly birth in the land of Judea: witness the King of Glory at His nativity. Based on the Gospel of Matthew and Luke, with some minor details from other sources. Rated T for implied suggestive content and thematic elements. Unofficial prequel to Joshua the King of Heaven.
1. The Rising of the Star

**(AN: Dear people of the house of fan-fiction, welcome again to yet another _wickedmetalviking1990_ take on a Bible story. I've had it in me to go back to the Bible and tell 'my take' on these beloved stories for some time, which has only grown greater from my research into the Jewish tradition. And, since we are but three months away from the generally accepted time, I thought it best to begin the story here and now, with a new chapter each week, hopefully concluding with the big chapter on time.)**

 **(As with _Joshua the King of Heaven_ , the names for the characters will be their Old Testament variations. So without further ado, let's dive right!)**

* * *

 **The Rising of the Star**

Somewhere in Persepolis, many miles in what was once the land of Persia. An ancient library stood in this old city, built many centuries ago by the Achamenids. The works of that library had long since been examined and copied by the scribes of the Greeks, and those copies taken to Alexandria. In the woes and troubles of the long years, those copies had been lost. But here, in the distant east, the texts still remained.

The house of learning was filled with excitement. Men servants, richly adored, were led by bearded elders to the places where the ancient tomes and scrolls were kept. These then searched and searched until they found the treasures within. Then brought they these treasures of knowledge to the center of the library. Here a table, decked with linen, had been brought forth, with luxurious cushions set round about it for the use of royalty. Seated around that table were many bearded men, each bedecked in fine clothes, their fingers laden with rings, their necks and arms heavy with gold and silver. By their garb, these were not men of the earth, nor warriors of great renown, but men of learning.

These men, from many parts of the world, had come to Persepolis in search of answers to a riddle. And it was for these answers that the men searched the ancient scrolls, which only here could they be accessible to them. The Great Library of Alexandria had burned some thirty years ago, and so much knowledge of the ancients had been lost with it. As for the ones who wrote the scrolls to which these learned men dedicated endless hours of study, their descendants lived still in places from the north in Scythia to as far as Rome in the west. But they were not in the habit of revealing their secrets to those who were not of their blood.

So they sought from where these people had been of old. For in ancient times they once were spread abroad throughout the Persian Empire. And here they found copies of their ancient writings, and plumbed their depths for the truth. Their servants kept them always refreshed with bread and wine at their table, and periodically one would depart privily, but return in haste to his study. Their research was feverish, and they slept very little. For at night, they climbed to the top of the library to an old observatory that was opened to the heavens, and viewed the stars.

* * *

Tonight it was late, the only light in the library came from the lamps that had been lit around and at their table for the purpose of their study. The leaders of these intellectuals, a Persian by the name of Melchior, paused for a moment from his study to take a sip of wine. At his right hand was an Alexandrian named Balthasar, who paused from his study upon noticing their chief doing likewise.

"Have you found what we're searching for?" Balthasar asked.

"Not as yet, my good man," Melchior replied. "I have been enthralled with the study of the history of the Jewish people. Truly fascinating."

"Why, Melchior," the Parthian at his left, whose name was Gaspar, interjected. "Do we look to their past? Are we not looking towards the future?"

"Truly, Gaspar," chuckled Melchior. "It is not custom for us to look to the past. But all those who are wise honor those who have gone before them. The people of Israel are no different. They refer to their God by His appearance before their ancestors; Abraham, the father of nations, Isaac, the son of promise, and to Jacob, who is called Israel, who is their father."

"Do you think, then," Balthasar interjected. "That the key to our riddle lies in the history of the Jews?"

"Most certainly," Melchior replied. "That is why I have been pouring over the Torah, the words of the Law. It was given to the people of Israel from the Almighty at the hands of Moses, the greatest prophet of their people. To this day, it is still held in reverence. They would not let us touch it, were we in Judaea, and it would be burned if we did."

"Such great reverence!" Gaspar noted.

"Do you think that Moses prophesied of the King of Glory?" Balthasar asked.

"Why not?" Melchior asked. "When the Torah was given to the people, he prophesied that a prophet would go forth from the Highest to lead the people."

"But that could be anyone," one of the others stated. "There have been many prophets among the children of Israel."

"That is true, my friend," Melchior said. "But I would draw your attention to the words of Jeremiah. 'When the word of the prophet shall come to pass, then shall that prophet be known, that the Highest hath truly sent him.' From this, we know that those whose words have come to pass are indeed true prophets, who should be heeded."

"And Moses?" asked the one who had spoken. "Do we know that his words are true?"

"Were I not of a mind that his words are true," Melchior stated. "I would be ruled by his words still. In his farewell speech to the people, he spoke of a fierce nation that would break their power and send their kings into exile. Came this not true when Babylon cast down their city and destroyed their Temple?" The man nodded.

"But that was over five hundred years ago," Gaspar stated. "What does that have to do with our search for the Promised One?"

"There was another prophecy," Melchior said, holding up one finger to drive his point home. "Recorded by Moses, but spoken by the prophet Baalam; he whose curse was turned to a blessing. Hear what he said; 'I shall see the Almighty, but not now. I shall behold Him, but not at hand. There shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Scepter shall rise from the house of Israel.'"

Silence fell upon the little group as they heard Melchior read these words. Even the servants, seeing the revered hush of their masters, paused in their duties. A look of wonder was upon Melchior's face as his words concluded. But he was not stricken still in his revelation. Instead he summoned one of his servants and called for the charts. As the young man departed, he rose and called the others to follow him to the observatory. On their way, he called for another servant to attend him personally as they made their ascent.

* * *

The passageway was long and narrow, winding up many steps to reach the high tower that stood above the city. At last it terminated in a parapet whose roof was open to the cold night sky. Some of them wrapped their cloaks tightly about themselves to keep out the cold. The second servant Melchior instructed to light a small lamp, while the first one arrived with a bundle of charts. Melchior called for a small table to be brought forth for the charts, then turned to the others.

"My brothers," he said. "I have here maps of the heavens. Copies of ancient charts used by navigators from the time of Cyrus the Great. Once the servants have brought up a table, I will open them for you and you will see."

It did not take very long for the servants to appear with the table and the lamp. As the lamp was lit, Melchior urged the others to come closer while he produced a chart of the western night sky and laid it out upon the table. One by one he pointed to the heavenly bodies and the constellations as they were known in those days, from their designation on the chart to their place in the sky. Every one of them was in its proper place for the time and season.

All except for one.

Low on the horizon in the western sky there lingered a lone star. It was not part of any constellation, nor had it a name like the bright Antares. In fact, it was not on any of the charts. Only recently had it appeared in the sky. This was the mystery that brought these men, of different tongues and histories, to this place of learning.

"A star shall come out of Israel to rule," muttered Balthasar.

* * *

 **(AN: Short, sweet, and just enough to wet your appetite for next week's publishing.)**

 **(As you can tell from this small chapter, I took the names of the Wise Men from what I consider to be the best religious fiction book of all time: that is, of course, Lew Wallace's classic _Ben-Hur_. As an additional aside, I happened to also come across a copy of a book by Fulton Oursler that was famously brought to the big screen in a "little" film called _The Greatest Story Ever Told_. While I'm not going to be drawing from that book entirely, it has indeed influenced me, as has Ben-Hur and other similar works of print and film, as I shall divulge in due time.)**


	2. Announcement

**(AN: One of the reasons for coming back to my Bible series was because of how much I had read and researched since my last published story [which I believe was _Exodus_ ]. I have several others planned in advance, but only a few words written to each one. But overall, I was generally embarrassed [if not altogether haunted] by how atrociously I had researched those other stories. So I wanted to do the Bible justice this time around and, in time, update and rewrite those older stories [though instead of rewriting _Joshua_ , I might just make a spin-off centered around the Romans at Joshua's time called _Ecce Homo_ ])**

 **(But anyway, as you will certainly notice in this chapter, once we switch perspectives to our Jewish heroine, that I have used the euphemism "HaShem" for Jehovah. This is not inappropriate, but I was in great error for having it established in _Exodus_ at the end of Joshua's life [that is Moses' successor and bar-Nun, lol]: in reality, it came into being around the time of Zerubbabel when he rebuilt the Temple and everyone was disappointed that it didn't live up to Solomon's Temple [and what could earthly monument could have?] So in this story the usage is historically accurate, but once/if I do _David the King_ , I will have a little retcon on why they're still using His right name at that time. But anywho, here we go!)**

* * *

 **Announcement**

Nazareth was a little town in the north of the land of Israel. Less than a thousand people lived in a town that was of no great significance. Most public records overlooked its existence, by reason of how ordinary it was. There was nothing even remotely special about this town; if one threw a stone into the town on a busy day, one could hit any number of people named Judah or Miriam, as it was in any town from Dan to Beersheba. Everyone knew everyone, nothing ever happened, and if something did happen, it was quickly the talk of the town.

In this town there lived a young woman whose name was Miriam, daughter of Joachim and Hannah. There wasn't anything particularly special about her, this young woman from a poor family. There were many such young women with curly, raven-dark hair, brown eyes, and olive complexion in the towns throughout Israel; even ones who were sixteen years old, and women in the eyes of the people of Israel and of God.

The Holy One of Israel, the One whose name was so sacred that the people of Israel named Him not, nor wrote His name in any form. The One they called _HaShem_ , the Name, was the Almighty of the Hosts of Heaven. By His awesome power had Moses led their ancestors out of the bondage of Egypt, and in His great wrath had He punished the old Kingdom and sent them into exile in Babylon for their wickedness. Now, some four hundred and forty years later, they had returned from exile under the tender mercies of their enemies; the Israelites now possessed the land of their fathers, the land of promise, but they were not truly reformed. Apostasy had been covered by formality, as their leaders determined that, in order for their nation to prosper, they must adhere strictly and unfailingly to the Law of Moses, the sacred Torah.

As for those living in Nazareth, including Miriam and her parents, they knew little of such matters. They were not scribes, learned in the Torah, nor Pharisees, the religious elders who cloistered themselves from the common folk to study the Torah and the commentaries of the rabbis of old. They were the common people, and all their knowledge of Torah came from what was taught by the town rabbi, the old and venerable Judah, every Sabbath in the synagogue; _HaShem_ was One God, and it was their duty to love Him with all of their heart, spirit, and might. Despite their simplicity and lack of knowledge, Joachim and Hannah did their best to train Miriam to keep the Torah with utmost diligence from an early age.

But, as they were only lowly folk, the study of Torah was not the focus of their hearts as much as those who strictly adhered to the words of Moses believed that all Israelites should. There were six days in the week, and plenty of things to occupy the body and mind, even here in Nazareth. Joachim worked every day from morning until evening to provide for his wife and daughter, and they in turn worked to keep the house and their few possessions in order and to prepare the food for themselves. As a little girl, Miriam had been told by her mother that what she did, helping her around the house, was to prepare her for what she must one day do.

"One day, Miriam," her mother said. "You will be someone's wife, and you will do these things for your husband and your house."

About seven months ago, what had once been a mirage on the desert horizon was now made a startling reality. Joachim had arranged for his daughter to be married to Joseph the carpenter. He was a hard-working man of good reputation, who would provide for their daughter once they were married in five months time. It was a good match.

* * *

In the morning one day in Nazareth, Miriam was on her way to the well in the little town. The earthen jar she carried under her arm; she wasn't quite yet able to carry it on her head, as her mother and the other women of the town had done. As she passed by the carpenter's workshop, she looked briefly at the man to whom she would be married. He was at least more than twelve years older than she was, handsome, hard-working, and an honorable man. The past seven months, he had never taken advantage of their betrothal union to have his way with her; truly a good man, as few there were among the sons of Israel. Any woman in Nazareth would be proud to have him as a husband.

He looked up as she passed and waved at her. She smiled, turned away and continued on her way to the well. She appreciated him for his respect for her; yet nevertheless, she seemed restless inside. She was doing as her parents wished for her, and was it not good in the sight of _HaShem_ to honor father and mother? Yet it seemed as though there was more that she felt she could be doing to honor _HaShem_. She had heard of some women who devoted themselves to the service of _HaShem_ ; maidens who spent their days in prayer and good deeds about the Court of Women in the Temple in Jerusalem. Once upon a time, she had hoped to serve _HaShem_ in this way, and now she was to be someone's wife.

As she approached the well, she set down her jar and began the laborious task of pulling up the water bucket from out of the well. Once it reached the top, she poured the water into the jar, then placed the bucket to the side for a moment as she looked southward, towards Jerusalem. Once a year, during the month of Nisan, she and her family would make the long journey for the _Pesach_ , the feast of the Passover. There they would give thanks for the deliverance _HaShem_ had given their ancestors from the bondage of Egypt so long ago.

"God of our fathers," Miriam said quietly to herself. "I pray that I may be a good wife, and bring honor to You. May I always obey Your Word, as You revealed it to our fathers. May it be so."

With a sigh, she turned about and gave a start. Someone was standing on the other side of the well: a tall man with a long beard dressed all in white.

"Greetings, Miriam," the man greeted. "Beloved and favored of the Almighty: _**Jehovah**_ is with you."

She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. What did it mean? Favored of _HaShem_? But she was a young woman in an insignificant town in Israel. What could she have done to deserve the favor of the Highest?

"Do not be afraid," the man said. "For you have found grace in the eyes of God. Behold now, you alone shall conceive and bear a son, and you shall call His name Joshua."

If the appearance of this man had startled Miriam at first, his words were even greater. A son? Such amazing news; so incredible, and alarming as well. But the stranger gave her little time to ponder these words.

"He shall be great, and called the Son of the Most High. The Almighty shall give Him the throne of David, to reign over the House of Jacob forever and ever. Of His Kingdom there shall be no end."

This was all so much for Miriam. What this man spoke of was none other than the Messiah, the Anointed One of _HaShem_. Long had the prophets spoken of the coming of a Messiah. It was too good to be true; the knowledge that the Anointed One would come in her lifetime, and that she would...

But no, she reasoned. It couldn't be so. She was not so naive that she did not know how children were born.

"But I am a maid, sir," she spoke at last. "How can these things be?"

"The Spirit of Holiness shall be with you," answered the man. "And the power of the Almighty shall be over you; therefore shall the child be called the Son of God."

Miriam gasped, and quickly looked this way and that about her. It seemed that no one was there. Just as well; these words were not such that could be said in public. To say that _HaShem_ , the One, could have a Son, would surely be deemed blasphemy.

"This shall be a sign to you," the man continued, as though he saw through to her uncertainty. "Elisabeth is with child. Thy cousin, barren for so long, is now in her sixth month. Nothing is impossible for the Almighty."

More words that took Miriam's breath away. Elisabeth, her older cousin in En-Karim: it had been a long time since she had spoken to her, dear heart. She was married to Zechariah, an old priest. For many years, their marriage was marred by their lack of a child, and now there was news that things had changed. Immediately in her heart there entered a new thought: if his words are true, then could I not visit Elisabeth and see her with child?

"Behold," she said, taking a knee and lowering her head. "I am the servant of _HaShem_. As He has spoken, so let it be done."

"I am Gabriel," the man said. "Who stands in the presence of the Almighty God. Blessed art thou among women."

Miriam lifted up her head, but he was nowhere to be seen. A strange feeling of warmth filled her from within; something she had never felt in all of her life. It was as if all the psalms of David the King were now brought to life, and she alone felt the vibrancy and power of his words and his faith and love for _HaShem_. She knew of Deborah, the prophet and judge whose leadership had saved Israel. She knew of her namesake, the sister of Moses, who was counted a prophet as well. These were great ones indeed.

 _Did they feel this way_ , she wondered, _when they were also filled with the_ _Ruach HaKodesh?  
_

* * *

 **(AN: And here we have the glorious Annunciation! Hallelujah!)**

 **(Speaking of _hallel_ , I may have triggered my Catholic readers by altering Gabriel's opening words to Miriam. This was not done out of spite, but simply because I've seen too much _Star Trek_ that I regard the word "hail" to mean "greeting" rather than "praise" [I also changed another wording because I don't want any filthy-minded people to be snickering]. In at least several other parts of the New Testament, Joshua Himself says "all hail" to the disciples [male and female], and since worship only belongs to God, it seemed more appropriate to use it as a greeting. If it makes you feel any better, I have used as one of my tomes of research the Catholic-approved Jerusalem Study Bible [given to me by my late grandfather, who died earlier this year]. Aside from the insight it has provided, its version of the Book of Jonah was translated by none other than Professor John Ronald Reuel Tolkien himself!)**


	3. Praise to the Almighty

**(AN: Originally I had planned to publish only one chapter per week, leading up to Christmas, but then decided against that and have therefore posted this chapter much sooner. I hope you enjoy and maybe this way, it will all be completed before Christmas!)  
**

 **(Another two things I forgot to mention in the last chapter going forward is something that all of you just might like: in my version, Miriam is described as an "introvert" [without using those exact words]. The other is that, unlike General Wallace's obsession with Indo-Europeans [though, having met actual Norwegians in person earlier this year, I can't exactly fault him for that], the heroes of this story are ethnically Jewish. That means that Miriam looks Middle Eastern, especially with the dark hair and dark eyes [which I actually prefer, to be honest].)**

 **(But before I go off on a ramble about red-haired Jews, speculation on how that gene gets passed down, and if maybe Joshua got those genes from His Mother [more on that later], let's not have another over-long author's note and jump back into the story!)**

* * *

 **Praise to the Almighty**

Miriam knew that she would have to tell Joseph what had happened. As his betrothed, she was obligated to let him know as soon as possible. She knew that he would find out in time, once she started showing; but by then, who knows what would happen? People would talk, for sure. They would say things, untrue things about her. These and other doubts rushed into her mind in that moment. She paused for a moment to clear her head; it was better that Joseph hear from her first, before any words started being spoken by anyone else.

As she carried her jar back to the house, she went over in her mind what she would say to him; what could she say? How could she tell him something that she barely understood herself? And most importantly, would he believe her?

The day wore on and grew hot and dry. Having completed the chores for the day, Miriam asked her mother leave to visit Joseph, which was granted; her parents knew that she was well-behaved and trust-worthy, and Joseph a man of honor. As she left her family's house and made her way through the dusty streets of Nazareth to Joseph's workshop, doubt filled her heart yet again. What if she hadn't truly seen what she had seen? What if she was endangering her life for nothing?

For a danger it truly was, as she knew in her heart. When she had her _bat-mitzvah_ , her mother Hannah told her the ways of women, as her mother had told her when she came of age as well. As _HaShem_ viewed the keeping of covenants a sacred thing, so He viewed the keeping of the covenant of marriage a sacred thing. Adultery was a sin punishable by death, to the man as well as the woman; though that was of little comfort. It dawned upon her that, though she was known for her honesty, no one would believe what she had seen and heard. They would think she had defiled herself and was an adulteress. The thought was both absurd and horrifying to her: she knew she hadn't given herself to anyone, not even to Joseph. But she was aware of what might happen if the news got out: and it filled her with fear.

At last the sound of axe striking wood became louder. She passed into the shop and found Joseph busy at work, taking a part a log that would be crafted into something beautiful and useful.

"Joseph?" she called out in greeting.

Upon hearing his name, Joseph arose from his work, wiping sweat off his brow when he saw who had appeared in his workshop.

"Miriam!" he said with a smile. "What a surprise! I didn't expect you over today. I've been preparing some wood for the wheel on Jotham's cart. Is there something you want?"

"Yes, Joseph," Miriam answered. She became awkwardly aware of the thickness of her tongue in her mouth at this point. Joseph turned back to his work, placing the sawn logs in one place, where he could use them for Jotham's wheel. Miriam, meanwhile, was having a hard time getting her words together. She became frightfully aware of just how huge a burden was about to lay on Joseph's shoulders. _Maybe a lesser burden would be better_ , she thought to herself.

"I would like to visit my cousin Elisabeth in En-Karim," she finally managed to say.

Joseph looked up from his work, his face furrowing slightly. "I wish I could take you there myself."

"You're not coming with me?" she asked, a little surprised at his response.

"There's much work to do here," he replied. "I can't leave the shop."

"I understand," she sighed. It seemed that she might not be going south at all.

"Merab is picking up some balsam from En-Gedi in three days," Joseph stated. "He owes me a favor for repairing his wagon; he can take you into the hill country."

Miriam chuckled. No one on the street near Joseph's workshop could have forgotten that little incident. Merab's wagon wheel broke the day before he was due in Bethsaida. He had paid Joseph handsomely if he could get the wheel repaired before he left that morning. All throughout the night he had worked, and everyone on the block heard the noise of it.

"He's a good man," Joseph added. "You'll be safe with him."

Miriam smiled, happy that he had agreed to her request.

"When will you return?" he asked.

"After three months," she answered.

Joseph nodded. "I will pray for your safe return every day that you're gone."

"Thank you, Joseph," she said with a smile.

"It's my pleasure to do something for my betrothed," he answered, returning her smile with one of his own. "Be safe and return as soon as you can."

This pleased Miriam more than she could hope for. It would be easier now, she hoped, to tell her parents of her departure.

* * *

After she had visited Joseph's workshop, she made her way back to her family's house and told her mother and father about her plans to leave for En-Karim: as she had hoped, it was easier to ask them this. They inquired if Joseph was coming with her; or, if not, if he had arranged for someone trust-worthy to go with her. As they knew Merab and his family, they were agreeable to the arrangement. Nonetheless, as families are, they made a fuss about giving provisions for their daughter's journey. They brought her bread, dried dates, and a skin of water.

"Be sure not to drink it all at once," Joachim reminded his daughter. "There isn't any water until you come to En-Karim, and the desert is unforgiving."

Over the next three days, Joseph managed to make the arrangements for Miriam to accompany Merab on his journey to south. Nazareth being as small as it was, Merab and his family knew both Joseph as well as Joachim and his daughter. They were trust-worthy people and Merab swore that he would deliver her to En-Karim safely and unharmed. In the house of Joachim, Miriam and her mother went over the food that had been prepared for her, and Hannah gave her some words of greeting and comfort to give to Elisabeth when she arrived.

At the end of the three days, Miriam rose early in the morning, prayed for the protection of _HaShem_ upon her journey, then made sure that all of her provisions were in order. Once this was done, she bade farewell to her mother and father, then made haste to the house of Merab. When she arrived, she found him bidding goodbye to his wife and children. They too waved goodbye to Miriam and bade her a safe journey. Miriam climbed into the wagon and waved farewell back at them, as Merab climbed into the front, cracked the reins and sent the donkey off at a slow and easy trot out of the town.

The journey south took four days, and it was not pleasant in the least. The roads to the hill country were hard and bumpy, and the air hot and dry. Miriam was more than a little sore throughout the journey. She ate very little, saving her rations for the days to come, as she did with the water also. The hardest part of the journey would be the tedium of the long, hot, uncomfortable, and lonely journey. Merab was decent company enough, but he was not very talkative; she remained out of sight in the back of the wagon, mostly to dissuade any brigands from causing them mischief. Furthermore, what would people think if a married man was seen talking with someone else's betrothed?

When he did talk, Merab usually had comments about the Romans and how much he loathed them.

"For the present, Miriam," he said. "Rome owns the whole world, and their rule is law. Even the elders in Jerusalem cannot carry out the judgments of the Torah freely without permission from our Roman masters. To think that we must grovel before these uncircumcised gentile filth just to obey what _HaShem_ commanded us!" He spat on the ground, cursed them by the unutterable and ineffable name of _HaShem_ , and then sighed.

"But Jerusalem is so far away," Miriam replied.

"Yes," Merab answered. "And we will see the Holy City on our detour to En-Karim. But even in Nazareth, the iron hand of Roman rule is felt. Nowhere in the world is safe from Rome, at least..." He sighed.

"Go on, please," Miriam urged.

"I was only going to say," Merab stated. "That when the Messiah comes, he will reveal the truth of _HaShem_ and return the kingdom to Israel."

Miriam could not help but cast her eyes down at her stomach; still flat for now, but, according to the angel Gabriel, carrying the Anointed One nonetheless. Could she dare to believe that this was true? That the hope of Israel would be in her lifetime, and that she would be the bearer of that hope?

"When do you think the Messiah will come?" Miriam asked; mostly out of curiosity. As she had learned about the ways of women from her mother, she knew that there would be at least nine months more until the child was in her arms and at her chest.

"Who knows?" Merab returned. "I'm an apothecary, not a scribe. I know as little of Torah as you do. Although I've heard there's a man named Judah who has several hundred followers in the desert. He claims to be the Messiah."

 _It will come to nothing_ , she thought to herself. To her astonishment, she realized that, despite every reason she had to worry and be fearful, she wanted the angel's words to be true.

* * *

The swiftest and most direct route from Nazareth to En-Karim was directly south. But this road led through Samaria, a place of contempt among Israel. Not only had they a history of idolatry from before Ahab made this region his capital, but when Jerusalem was destroyed by Babylon some five hundred years ago, the people of Samaria who remained behind had mingled with the gentiles of that region. For this, no one in the north or south had dealings with Samaria, and pilgrims going north or south would have to cross the Jordan River here and again at Jericho farther south.

Before midday on the first day of their journey, Merab's wagon - bearing Miriam in the back - came to a halt at the banks of the Jordan. Thankfully the river was low and they were able to cross with Merab dismounting from the cart and leading the donkey across the shallowest part. Miriam remained in the wagon, listening to the rushing of water below the bed of the cart and praying to _HaShem_ quietly to herself. She could not swim and feared that the wagon wheel might break off in the stream and they would be forced to wade through the river. But nothing of the sort happened and they made it to the other side in safety, _HaShem_ be praised.

The rest of that day was spent traveling along the main road. For all his hatred of the Romans, Merab could not deny that the roads made traveling south quite easier. Long leagues of desert and mountainous terrain on this side of the river waited them before they would cross it again. When night fell, Merab pulled the cart off the road and secured the donkey to it before building a small fire. There were many dangers in the desert at nighttime, both man and beast, and light was their best defense. Merab slept on a cloak he spread out on the ground by the cart, while Miriam slept in the back of the cart underneath a tarp. The night passed with little sound and when morning arose, bright and cool, they readied themselves for travel. As the sun rose, the cool of early morning faded and the oppressive heat came bearing down upon them. Only beneath the heavy tarp of the wagon did Miriam have any meaningful respite, however small, from the overbearing heat: the only problem now was being parched by the dryness of the desert. She drank from her water-skin as much as she could without drinking all at once: it had to last her for the duration of the journey.

At the end of the day, after another long and bumpy travel through the desert, they made camp again. Sometime during the night, Miriam woke from her sleep; she half-thought that she had heard a noise somewhere nearby. When she pulled back the tarp, she saw no one. She shrugged and went back to sleep. But even so, she found it difficult to return to sleep. The noise she heard, or thought she had heard, filled her with dread. Somehow, the fear of assault seemed much worse to her than actually being assaulted on the road; or at least, that was how it appeared to her mind at the moment.

* * *

The third day dawned and they continued on their way. There was little to remember about the journey itself or the landscape, for Miriam laid in the back of the cart and was still feeling nauseous. Some time in the early afternoon they crossed the Jordan again and entered a bumpy, arid region. If she knew the dangerous road upon which she was traveling, she would have been truly afraid: for, as it was, the path south led them through the most dangerous part of that region, the Nahal Pharan. This was part of the Jordan River valley, and those who wished to cross over to Jerusalem - or the hill country of En Karim - were forced to enter this dangerous region.

Yet perhaps the very hand that had favored Miriam now guided her on this journey, for she encountered nothing more uncomfortable to her person than the heat and onset of morning sickness. She forced herself to eat some food and drank sparingly of the water. Even beneath the tarp, sheltered from the scorching sun, the oppressive heat permeated everything. A few hours later, as the day was drawing to a close, the wagon came to a halt. Merab roused Miriam from the cart and pointed west.

"Can you see in the distance?" he said. "The white walls of Jerusalem upon the hill of Zion."

Jerusalem was the jewel of _HaShem_ 's people, the children of Israel. It was the city of David, and it was here that Solomon the Wise had built the Temple, which had been destroyed, and upon which site Herod the Great and built a second Temple. Miriam had visited the city a couple of times as a child with her family for _Pesach_ , but she had scarcely remembered what it looked like. She knew that it was dangerous and that the sacred festival of _Pesach_ was kept there; the feast that commemorated when the children of Israel had been saved from the Tenth Plague and had been liberated from the bondage of Egypt.

They paused only briefly, before Merab cracked the reins and the donkey took off on a leisurely trot down the road. Jerusalem was not their destination. But as they were turning away, Miriam gave one last look back at the Holy City. One day, perhaps in her lifetime, she would see the Messiah, the Anointed One of _HaShem_ , her son, enter into that city as had been promised.

 _No_ , she reminded herself and she returned under the cover of the tarp. _He is the Son of the Almighty._

* * *

One last nightly stop and then the fourth day of their journey dawned. As they would be going out of their way, Merab did not pass through the Holy City but came around on its western wall, going south and est instead of eastward to En-Gedi. About midday, Merab knocked on the back-board of the cart and Miriam, who had been napping, roused from her rest and peeped out from beneath the tarp.

"We're here," Merab said.

Miriam pulled back the tarp and looked out outside and around the cart. For countless days she had seen only barren desert beyond the cart; now a cool, forested land of mountains and valleys met her eyes. In many ways, it reminded her of Nazareth, with its many tall coniferous trees and rolling hills; but it was less arid and decidedly cooler than her own home-village. As Merab had frequented this town quite often, he knew where to drop off Miriam. He brought the cart to a halt outside of a modest-sized han near the outskirts of the town. Miriam thanked Merab and bade him shalom before climbing out of the cart. At the entrance of the han, as was custom among such houses, was a small plaque upon the doorpost upon which was written the shema Israel:

' _Hear O Israel:_ HaShem _thy God is One. And thou shalt love_ HaShem _with all thy heart and with all they soul and with all thy might._ '

Miriam paused and placed her hand upon the plague and prayed softly:

"God of our fathers," she said. "It is said that our father Abraham believed the promise that he would beget a son in his old age, and that it was counted for righteousness. I believe that the words of the angel were true regarding Elisabeth, and regarding myself. May it be so."

With that, she crossed the threshold of the han and entered into a small courtyard. She called out the name of her older cousin:

"Elisabeth! Peace be upon you and Zechariah. It is I, Miriam. I have come to visit."

She heard from somewhere near in the courtyard the sound of gentle laughter. She smiled, as she immediately recognized the voice. Then she heard shuffling of sandals upon the dusty floor. A figure appeared from behind a wall in the courtyard and Miriam's hands went up to cover her mouth as she gasped with amazement.

The figure was her cousin Elisabeth. Her face was no different than she had recalled, marked with a few lines of age, which Miriam often called "smile lines." She was several years older than Hannah and beneath her veil, her ebony hair was strewn with many strands of gray. Yet it was not her face, which was now smiling at her as they gazed at each other, which caused Miriam to gasp and squeal with happiness. The older woman's left hand was cradling her stomach. Miriam could scarcely believe it herself: despite her age, Elisabeth had always been slender, and yet now...she was huge!

An expression of joy and happiness was on the old woman's face as she walked towards Miriam.

"Blessed art thou among women," Elisabeth said. "And blessed is the fruit of your womb."

Miriam's surprise was doubled, if that was at all possible. How could Elisabeth know about what had happened to her only a week ago? With this revelation, as well as her cousin's words, Miriam realized that it could only mean one thing: the angel's words were true. Elisabeth embraced Miriam, kissed both of her cheeks with her own, then stepped back and knelt down upon the floor.

"Don't bow to me, Elisabeth," Miriam said.

"Why is it," Elisabeth asked. "That the mother of the Anointed One should honor me with her presence?" Miriam placed her hands upon Elisabeth's arms and brought her back to her feet. As she stood up, Elisabeth took one of Miriam's hands with her own and placed it upon her stomach.

"He leaped for joy as soon as I heard your voice, child," Elisabeth said with a smile. Miriam giggled as she felt movement beneath her hand. Elisabeth then swept Miriam into a tight embrace. "Blessed is she who believed. For the things which were told her from _HaShem_ shall surely be performed."

* * *

 **(AN: Going back through this chapter, I realized how many mistakes I made. For one thing, in the original draft, I had that Zechariah and Elisabeth were living in "En-Gedi" as opposed to En-Karim [totally different locations: one is on the south-western side of Jerusalem, and the other is an oasis near the Dead Sea]. Also there were a lot of word omissions and misplaced words here and there. If you find any that slipped my review, please let me know.)**

 **(In the last chapter, I did as the scholars of old were often wont to do with counting numbers and gave a vague number for how old Joseph is ["at least twelve years older than her"]. Again, without rambling on about vague numerical values in Louis Ginzberg's _Legends of the Jews_ [a compendium of Talmud and Midrash - though by no means exhaustive] and this as evidence of outside influence that had a need for exact numerical values in Scripture, I will just say that the main point is that Joseph is older than her.)**

 **(The lengthy description of traveling through the desert was inspired by my 18 mile walk from one town to another many years ago: no joke, I will always tell that story until the day I die. For the sake of brevity, I won't share it in the author's note [hit me up with a PM if you want to hear it]: suffice it to say that I know how they felt, walking in a land with zero humidity in both the warm afternoon and the cool evening.)**


	4. Glory of a Covenant Fulfilled

**(AN: That last chapter was of nice length. You can do it: baby steps!)**

 **("But wait," you say. "Didn't you say Mary is an introvert in your story? Why was she all giggly and happy?" Well, it's a little complicated, so much so that I might actually dedicate a whole paragraph or two just to explain my reasoning. But the overall point is that I wanted to make my version of Miriam feel like an actual person, who gets excited over her older cousin having a child, etc. And, as we all know, real people are not one dimensional.)**

 **(While re-reading the Magnificat, I realized that it is similar in almost every word to the prayer of Hannah [that is the wife of Elkanah and mother of the prophet Samuel from the Old Testament]. That is one reason I threw that whole comparison in there. I hope you'll enjoy it and this chapter.)**

* * *

 **Glory of a Covenant Fulfilled**

No sooner had their words of greeting been said between them, but Elisabeth led Miriam into the han and set about preparing food for her guest. Even were she not family, custom dictated hospitality towards one's guest. The food here in the hill country was exquisite, and Miriam did not refuse what was offered her: the many days of travel and fasting had made her hungry. As soon as Miriam had been served, Elisabeth departed for a short time and returned briefly to sit down with her guest. They sat and talked in happiness about such things that had happened in En-Karim: Nazareth was so small and insignificant that nothing of any interest happened there.

Except one thing, that was. Miriam told Elisabeth about the visit and what the angel had said. When she told her that the angel was called Gabriel, Elisabeth's face lit up with joy.

"Truly _HaShem_ has blessed you, child," she exclaimed.

"As He has blessed you and Zechariah," Miriam added. "Where is he, by the way?"

Elisabeth sighed. "He has been in solitude for the past six months."

"Has he been praying?" Miriam asked hopefully.

"In his heart," Elisabeth clarified. "As did Hannah when she prayed for a son. He cannot speak."

Miriam's smile faded. "What happened?"

"Six months ago," Elisabeth began. "Zechariah was called to Jerusalem to serve in the Temple. When he came out, he could not speak." She held out her hand and Miriam helped her to her feet; Elisabeth shuffled over to an alcove in the wall and brought forth a small clay tablet. Written upon it were words; Miriam could not read, but Zechariah had taught Elisabeth how to read.

"We went home immediately afterwards," Elisabeth said, pointing to the words with her finger and tracing them from the right side of the tablet to the left side. "He wrote this to me:

'When I was in the Temple, the angel Gabriel appeared to me at the right-hand of the altar of incense. "Fear not, for thy prayer is answered. Thy wife shall bear thee a son and thou shalt call his name John. Thou shalt have joy and gladness at his birth, as shall many; for he shall be great in the sight of _HaShem_. He shall drink neither wine nor strong drink, for the Spirit of Holiness shall fill him, even from his mother's womb."'" Elisabeth placed her hand on the side of her stomach, as if in memory of what had happened when Miriam had arrived; she then continued.

"'"Many of the children of Israel shall turn to _HaShem_ , for he shall go before Him in the spirit and power of Elijah: to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, the disobedient by the wisdom of the just, and to prepare the way for _HaShem_." I did not believe what he said, and Gabriel commanded that, for a sign, I shall not speak until the day these things are fulfilled.'" Elisabeth placed the tablet back in the alcove.

"I'm so sorry for you," Miriam consoled.

"It is the will of _HaShem_ ," Elisabeth sighed. "'He giveth and He taketh away.' Still, I shall be glad when he speaks again. Who shall tell the rabbi what the child's name will be?"

"Why not you?" Miriam asked.

"It's not proper," Elisabeth replied. "Zechariah told me that many eyebrows were raised when it was heard that he taught me to read. Was I to read the Torah? It would have been a shame to our house!" She sighed. "But he loved me, and would not suffer it to be otherwise."

Miriam was silent. It seemed strange to her that _HaShem_ 's will was to have Zechariah silent while, for herself, she was given a much easier sign and allowed to keep her voice. Zechariah was a good man and a scholar, learned in the Torah, who had stood before the Veil of the Temple in Jerusalem; by comparison, she was a nobody from a nowhere town in the north.

"How long will you be staying with us?" Elisabeth asked.

"Until your child is born," Miriam answered. "I want to share in the joy and happiness the angel promised."

"And so you shall."

After they had finished eating and talking, as it was late, Elisabeth prepared a place for her guest to sleep while she went to her room with Zechariah. There they slept in peace all through the night.

* * *

When the morning came, Elisabeth went about with the morning chores. It had been both a blessing and a curse: a blessing for that she only needed to care normally for two people - with the exception of visitors - but a curse because all the responsibility was on her shoulders, as she had no children to help her. She went to Zechariah and embraced him. She found him sitting upon a bench, reading from the writings of the prophets by the light of a small, almond-shaped lamp. Elisabeth took one of his gnarled, aged hands and placed it upon her stomach. He smiled ruefully and she returned the smile, but with hope in her eyes. He then took the reading stylus and pointed to a line, indicating that she should read it aloud for him.

"'My heart rejoices in _HaShem_ , and my horn is exalted in the Almighty. My mouth is opened against my enemies, for I rejoice in Thy salvation. There is no one besides _HaShem_ for holiness; neither is there a rock like the Almighty. Speak no more proudly; let no arrogance come from thy mouth; _HaShem_ is full of knowledge and by Him are the deeds of men judged. The bows of the mighty are broken, and the strong men have stumbled. Those that are full have sold themselves for bread, and the hungry have ceased to beg; she that was barren has born seven children, and she who has many has grown feeble. _HaShem_ giveth life and taketh it away; He brings them into the grave and out again. He maketh the poor and the rich; the lowly He has exalted and the proud He has humbled. He raises up the poor from the dust and the beggar He lifts out of the dung hill; to set them among princes and to make them inherit the throne of glory. For the foundations of the earth belong to _HaShem_ , and He hath set the earth thereon. He shall keep the feet of His holy ones, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness; for by His strength shall no man prevail. The enemies of _HaShem_ shall judge the ends of the earth, and He shall give strength unto His king, and exalt the horn of His Anointed.'"

Elisabeth turned to Zechariah, and they both smiled again. The old man then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the temple of his wife's head. She left then to prepare the food for the morning meal.

As soon as the food was prepared, Elisabeth called for Miriam. When she did not immediately answer her, Elisabeth searched the house for her. Through one window she changed to see her walking alone outside the han, underneath a cedar tree. She walked outside to call her but hesitated as she came to the threshold of the backdoor of her house: she could hear Miriam talking aloud to herself, praying.

"My soul magnifies _HaShem_ , and my spirit rejoices in the Almighty, my salvation, who has looked with kindness upon the least of His servants: for this, all generations shall call me blessed. The Almighty has done great things for me: Holy is _HaShem_. For all time, His mercy has been towards those who fear Him. He has shown strength with His arm: the proud He has scattered in the imaginations of their hearts. The mighty He has cast down from their thrones, and He has exalted those of low estate. The hungry He has filled with goodness and the rich He has sent away empty. _HaShem_ has helped His servant Israel, in remembrance of the promise He spoke in His mercy; to our father Abraham and to his seed forever."

Elisabeth smiled at these words. For all the long years of her life, she had heard the story of Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel, and had kept them in her heart; hoping that, one day, perhaps, _HaShem_ would bless her with a son. But the years had come and gone and she was now outside of the years of child-bearing. Now, however, those very words of Hannah's were given new life; and new meaning as well. For they spoke once of the prophet Samuel, and now they spoke of the hope of the fulfillment of the words of the prophets before and after him as well. And as the instruments of the fulfillment of this prophecy, _HaShem_ had chosen the least of people of their time: a poor young woman from a nowhere town in the north.

"Praise be," Elisabeth said with a smile.

* * *

The days passed on one after the other here in En-Karim; Sabbaths came and went, and served as the indication for the passing of time. For Miriam, she tried to be as helpful as she could to Elisabeth, despite the protests of the older woman that she was a guest in her house and should not be helping her. Miriam had bouts of nausea more and more frequently, but they became less and less intense as the days went on. At odd times, she would notice that if she pressed her robe tightly about her mid-section, she could see the gentle swelling of her own stomach. For now it was so small, it was barely noticeable. Elisabeth, much to Miriam's surprise, seemed to grow even bigger than she had first seen her.

To this end, Miriam made up her mind that, as soon as she returned home to Nazareth, she would tell Joseph the truth straight out and plainly. There was no sense beating around the bush about it. It wouldn't be possible to keep this a secret forever, and she preferred to let Joseph hear the truth from her rather than to hear a false rumor. Of course there was still the fear of what might happen, but for the present, that was still some time away and there were much more important things happening. Also, she knew that the angel Gabriel had been true: as Elisabeth told her, from what she had heard from Zechariah, the words of a prophet or oracle were from _HaShem_ when they came true.

 _No matter what happens_ , Miriam told herself, _HaShem will be with me._

At last the day came when Elisabeth called for Miriam to send for the midwife. With joy she made her way to the place where Elisabeth told her, gave the old midwife the money Elisabeth had given her for her services, then led her back to the han. At once the old woman went to work examining Elisabeth, who then gave Miriam her last instructions: she was to go to the houses of their friends and family and tell them the good news. Miriam had met them in the past three months, though none of them knew about what had happened with her, and she knew where to find them. In no time at all, news spread throughout En-Karim that Elisabeth, the wife of the old rabbi Zechariah, was to be blessed with a child. Everyone was happy, especially their neighbors who had known them for many years and knew just how huge a blessing this birth was for the old couple.

After hours of going about town with the news, Miriam came back to the han exhausted. There were quite a few people within now, a sea of relatives and well-wishers for the birth. Most of them hung without the door of the han, but a few Miriam had to push back outside to keep them from disturbing Elisabeth. Just as Miriam began to become truly exhausted, she was called back into the room and told by Elisabeth to remain with her and witness what was about to take place.

Despite all the hours that had passed in her journey of joy across the town, even more time passed afterward and no child was seen yet. The sun made its long voyage across the sky, slowly stretching out the shadows, and still nothing happened. The day began to grow dark and the crowds started to dissipate from the han: the moon was seen hanging in the sky even as the sun was on its way down. At last, there was an agonizing groan from Elisabeth and then a sudden, high-pitched wailing cry. Miriam, who had been growing weary from all the waiting, suddenly perked up from where she sat. There was Elisabeth, drenched in sweat, sitting upon a bloody birthing stool, cradling a tiny baby up to her breast. Miriam crept over to Elisabeth's left-hand side, opposite Zechariah, who was now ushered into the room at Elisabeth's right hand; she looked down at the face of the little baby. She was amazed at how small and squished the baby's face looked: he almost seemed grumpy and yet was contently lying in his mother's arms. Miriam covered her mouth as she was bursting at the seams with an enormous smile.

"Praise be to _HaShem_!" Miriam exalted happily.

* * *

For the next week, Elisabeth was cloistered in the birthing room for her purification, which would last a total of forty days. The circumcision would take place on the eighth day, when Elisabeth would be able to receive visitors but not able to enter or approach any sacred thing. During this time, she kept the baby close by her. Upon the eighth day, the rabbi was called for the circumcision and all the friends and neighbors of Elisabeth and Zechariah came to witness the event. With eager anticipation they waited as the rabbi carried out the solemn ritual.

"And _HaShem_ spake to Abraham, saying," quoth the rabbi. "'This is my covenant, which ye shall keep, between Me and you and thy seed after thee; every man child among you shall be circumcised. And ye shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin; and it shall be a token of the covenant between Me and you. And he that is eight days old shall be circumcised among you, every man child in your generations, he that is born in the house, or bought with money of any stranger, which is not of thy seed.'"

"Amen," those gathered about muttered.

In one swift stroke the deed was done, and the crying infant was delivered into the arms of his mother. The rabbi held out both hands in the votive gesture - fingers pressed together in a v-shape with the thumb at the crook thereof - and spoke the blessing.

"Blessed art thou, _HaShem_ , our God, who is King over all the world; who sanctified Israel with the covenant of circumcision."

"Amen," those gathered about muttered.

"It is a shame, Elisabeth," the rabbi said. "That Zechariah has fallen dumb. He should be sharing in the joy of this birth, as well as to give a name for the child."

"Let him be named after his father," an elderly uncle of Zechariah's said, knowingly wagging one finger. "That he may speak the words of _HaShem_ in his father's stead."

"No," Elisabeth said. Heads turned towards the mother, some gasped, and the others were silent. "His name is John."

"What kind of nonsense is this?" a female cousin of Elisabeth's asked.

"No one in your family is called John!" the uncle added, shaking his long gray beard.

"Someone get a hold of Zechariah," one of their female neighbors said. "Try to get him to say something."

"He can't talk!" the uncle exclaimed.

"I know he can't talk!" the neighbor replied. "But we can reach him some other way."

"What other way?" the uncle asked. "Are you gonna gesture with your hands? He's dumb, not deaf!"

" _You're_ deaf, by the elders and sages of blessed memory!" the neighbor returned.

"Peace be upon them," those around muttered.

"Don't be disrespecting the elders!" the uncle stated. "Remember what the Torah says: death to the ones who dishonor their mother and father!"

"I do honor my mother and father!" the neighbor said. "But you, Amram, are neither!" Old Amram mumbled and threw up his hands.

"Oy!" groaned the female cousin. "I'm getting Zechariah!"

Within a few moments, the female cousin appeared, dragging Zechariah behind her. The cousin then began to speak very loudly and slowly to the old rabbi, making broad gestures with her hands.

"What. Is. The Baby's. Name?" she asked.

"He's dumb, not deaf!" uncle Amram repeated.

"Can you write the baby's name?" the neighbor asked. "Someone get him a tablet!"

Zechariah held up one finger in recognition, then walked over to the alcove in the wall. He produced the tablet that Elisabeth had shown Miriam and pointed to a passage written therein with the reading stylus.

"'Thou shalt call his name John,'" Amram read aloud, then threw up his hands.

"But where does that name come from?" the cousin asked.

"It's on the tablet!" Amram exclaimed.

"I still say he should be Zechariah," the neighbor protested. "Named for his father; that's how it's always been."

"Didn't you hear Amram read the writing?" a smooth, baritone voice asked. "His name is John! Are _you_ deaf?"

There was stunned silence in the house. Miriam, where she was standing saw, the old rabbi clasping his hand over his mouth, as if surprised to hear his own voice after so long. Zechariah had spoken! Whispers and murmurs were heard among those gathered about and Elisabeth practically rushed over to his side, beaming with joy, cradling baby John in her arms. No voice carried over a murmur or a whisper, for all were in awe of the miracle that had just taken place before their very eyes. At length, Zechariah spoke, holding up his right hand to Heaven in a votive gesture.

"Blessed be _HaShem_ , the God of Israel, who has visited and redeemed His people; He has raised up a horn of salvation unto us in the house of His servant David! So spake He by the mouth of His holy prophets since the beginning of the world; that we should be saved from our enemies, and from the hand of those who hate us. To perform the mercy promised to our father Abraham; that He would deliver us out of the hand of our enemies that we might serve Him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before Him, all the days of our lives!"

Those who listened had no words with which to respond to Zechariah; neither did they even utter an amen. Such words were too incredible to be believed. As they marveled at these words, Zechariah turned to Elisabeth and took the tiny infant out of her arms and cradled him in his aged hands.

"Thou shalt be the prophet of the Most High," said Zechariah, with tears of joy in his dark eyes. "For thou shalt go before the face of _HaShem_ to prepare His ways, to give knowledge of salvation to His people for the remission of their sins through the tender mercy of _HaShem_. So shall the promised branch of _HaShem_ the Most High visit us, to give light to those that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace."

The silence among them at Zechariah's words continued. For those like old Amram who had studied the Torah, the words of prophecy that Zechariah quoted were known. The others wondered what they could mean, or what great future the child of the learned rabbi had in store for him. As for Miriam, she stood near the back of the company. She was also filled with joy and amazement when she heard the old man's mouth opened and speak the words of prophecy: the words filled her with hope and strength. Fear was far from her. The words of the angel had been confirmed and performed before her very eyes.

* * *

Three more days passed for the coming of the Sabbath. Miriam went to the synagogue in En-Karim, and watched from the women's portion as Zechariah read from the Torah. In time, Elisabeth would be allowed to enter the synagogue and see and hear her husband read again for herself: for the present, she would listen for her and repeat what was said and heard to her at the end. Afterward, Miriam returned to their han. At sundown, when the Sabbath was over, she was called before Zechariah and Elisabeth. Baby John was lying asleep in his cradle at Elisabeth's side.

"Elisabeth tells me," Zechariah asked. "That you will be returning to Nazareth soon?"

"Yes, sir," Miriam nodded.

"Shimmeah the copper-smith is going to Caesarea tomorrow," Zechariah said. "I will arrange for him to pass through Nazareth on his way north. He's a good man and trustworthy. You'll be safe in his company."

"Thank you, Zechariah," Miriam said with a smile.

"Must you go back to Nazareth?" Elisabeth asked. "Your presence has been such a blessing to us, to both of us. I would have you stay, if it were possible."

"My betrothed awaits me in Nazareth," Miriam said. She noticed the discerning look that came upon Zechariah's face, to which she stated. "He's a hard-working man. He couldn't spare the time, otherwise he would have come as well."

"Child," Elisabeth said to Miriam. "If you will be ruled by me, you would stay here with us until your son is born. Nazareth is a small town; people will surely talk once you start showing. Here you and your child will be safe."

Miriam nodded. "I'm grateful for your offer, Elisabeth, but I must return home. I know that people will talk, but they will talk if I stay behind. I would have my father and mother and Joseph know the truth from my mouth first before hearing any falsehoods from the mouths of others."

"Do you think Joseph will believe what you say?" Elisabeth asked.

"I don't know," Miriam answered in all truth. "I pray that he will, and that all that's happened these past months will be proof enough for him, as it has been for me."

" _HaShem_ bless you for your bravery, child," Elisabeth said.

The next morning came bright and early. Miriam awoke with an uneasy feeling; the nausea was still upon her. She ate a small breakfast with Zechariah and Elisabeth, then they made ready to depart. The old man gave her food and water for the journey; then they followed her outside to the courtyard of their han, where awaited Shimmeah and his wagon.

"Be safe, child," Elisabeth said. "I will see you in Jerusalem for Pesach, _HaShem_ willing."

Miriam embraced Elisabeth, then planted a kiss on baby John's forehead.

" _HaShem_ 's blessing upon you and your family, Zechariah," Miriam said to the old man. He held up his hand over her in the votive gesture and gave his farewell blessing.

"May the blessing of _HaShem_ be upon you, woman," Zechariah said.

Miriam then climbed into the back of the cart, which took off down the road, taking her away from Zechariah and Elisabeth. She waved farewell to them, and they waved and smiled back to her until they disappeared from sight. She now steeled herself for the journey ahead. Ere long she would miss the cool shade of the forested hills of En-Karim. In her heart and mind, she kept the memory of what had happened ever in mind, so that she would not forget it. For no sooner had the town vanished behind her, swallowed by the tall, evergreen trees of the mountains, but that she began to wonder about what awaited her at home and how her mother, father, and Joseph would take the news.

* * *

 **(AN: One thing Oursler did not take into consideration in the book version of _The Greatest Story Ever Told_ was that Miriam probably couldn't read or write. For the sake of reiterating the first half of Luke 1 and the prayer of Hannah, I wrote in that Zechariah taught his wife Elisabeth how to read, presumably to help him in his rabbinical duties. I would assume that they must have loved each other, for to have stayed together into their fifties and/or sixties without any children. Also, considering that their household duties would be very meager, as Elisabeth would only have to cook and clean and sew for two, there may have been time for learning how to read.)**

 **(Hope you enjoyed the humorous take on the bris of John the Baptist [and all those named characters who won't appear or be mentioned again])**


	5. Most Suitable

**(AN: Pardon me for rambling yet again, but I am called to speak my mind about something which I reference in this chapter, particularly a passage from Deuteronomy that has gotten everyone upset. In brief, this verse isn't about "forcing victims to marry their rapist", but rather forcing the promiscuous guy from being a deadbeat dad [you know, because the welfare state didn't exist back then and people literally lived or died on whether or not they could provide for themselves])**

 **(It's come to my attention from the reviews that my use of Hebrew words is throwing a lot of you off. So let me enlighten you: "HaShem" means "the name", which is used as a place-holder for the name of God, since the Hebrews post-Babylonian exile stopped using Jehovah's name but instead used replacement words to refer to the Name [ie. "HaShem]. "Ruach HaKodesh" i learned from a rabbi, it means "Spirit of Holiness", or more commonly Holy Spirit. I use Pesach interchangeably to mean Passover, and "shema Israel" [or shema] is the ritual Jewish prayer based on Deuteronomy 6:4. In verse nine it specifically commands the Jews to "write them upon the posts of thy house, and upon thy gates", which is something _Ben-Hur_ got very right.)**

 **(Many long years I have worked in my head how Joseph reacted to the news. If you heard one version in _The Early Church_ that is different than what you will see here, I ask that you pardon me and forget that version. It was written at a very bad time for me. I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless and aren't too grossed or weirded out by it.)**

* * *

 **Most Suitable**

The journey back to Nazareth was slow and relatively uneventful. The heat and the jostling of Shimmeah's wagon was enough to wear out poor Miriam: she was thankful that the weeks of morning sickness had passed during her stay in En-Karim. The thought of enduring that while jostling along a dusty road was almost too much for her. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast and resolute in her decision; she had made up her mind and wouldn't be persuaded one way or another. At the end of four days, they arrived in Nazareth. Miriam bade Shimmeah shalom and went to Joseph's workshop to see him at once. As she made her way to his shop, she was amazed at how calm she was; perhaps the memories of what had transpired in En-Karim had given her courage and joy that, for the moment, triumphed against any fear. Even so, she looked this way and that before entering the shop, making sure that no one was within earshot before she broke the news.

After their greetings had been said, Miriam told Joseph about how Elisabeth and Zechariah were doing, assuring him that the journey had been safe for her. When she had finally said this, and he was about his work, she told him the news.

"Joseph," she said. "There's something important I have to tell you. I'm with child."

Joseph looked up from his workbench and stared at Miriam. The news hit him like a log of Lebanese cedar dead on in the center of his chest. The joy at seeing his betrothed's safe return was shattered almost immediately. At first he tried to pretend that this was an idle jest, though he knew that Miriam was not given to jesting or falsehood. His empty smile faded as soon as he saw Miriam shake her head; this was no jest. His heart sank as he looked into her big brown eyes: he considered himself an honorable man, and as such a good judge of one's credibility, and in her eyes he saw only truth; even happiness.

His breath caught in his throat. He wanted to say something: to shout, to cry, to tear his garments, rip out his beard, to express his displeasure and frustration at this unexpected and unfortunate turn of events. Instead, he remained stunned in silence. Into his mind came wicked thoughts about this woman, this goodly maid: but she wasn't a maid anymore. It wasn't his fault, he knew that of a certain: yea, he would have sworn before _HaShem_ that he had never violated her.

Miriam had expected an answer of some kind; a harsh rebuke, tears of sorrow, doubt and dismissal. She was not prepared for the silence, and the look of disappointment and grief in Joseph's brown eyes; he looked as one who had been betrayed by a dear friend, even a member of his own household.

"Don't be afraid, Joseph," she began. "It's not your child." He gasped, taking a step back from her; this seemed to him almost as bad as an open admittance of guilt. "Three months ago, an angel from _HaShem_ came to me and said that I would conceive a son while still a maid..."

Joseph held up his hand: he didn't want to listen right now, as, in his mind, enough had already been said. The news alone was so great, but her defense was enough to make him angry. He left his shop immediately, ignoring Miriam calling after him. Step by step, he found himself making his way towards the house of Judah, the village rabbi. He breathed a sigh of relief: if anyone could be trusted with a secret, it would be rabbi Judah. More so, since Jacob had died, Joseph needed the advice of an elder, especially one learned in Torah for such a hard matter.

 _HaShem guide my steps_ , Joseph prayed in his heart as he walked through the streets of Nazareth.

Miriam didn't give pursuit; sooner or later, the news would be all over Nazareth without her making a scene in front of her friends and neighbors. Even as she thought of this, it dawned upon her that she had to break the news to her mother and father. Surely they deserved to know.

 _HaShem protect me_ , Miriam prayed in her heart as she walked back to her home.

* * *

At last Joseph found the rabbi's house, hard by the town synagogue (as was the case with most towns and villages in Israel). He raised his hand to knock, but then remembered that he had left the shop in disarray. Almost instinctively he made as though he would go back and clean up the mess he had left: the story of the almost superhuman level of diligence of his namesake had been drilled into his head from an early age by his father Jacob, and so diligence in his work became a matter of habit. His better sense told him not to do anything rash, but to return to his shop and clean up before doing anything: he was always more centered when working. But his frustration was still great and he steeled himself for what he had come here to do.

Again he raised his hand to the door, and this time he knocked, hoping that rabbi Judah would be home and answer him promptly. _HaShem_ be praised, he didn't have to knock a second time; for the door opened and the gray-haired rabbi stood in the doorway before him.

"Shalom, Joseph," rabbi Judah greeted. "How may I help you?"

"Shalom, rabbi," Joseph returned. "I would speak with you in private."

Rabbi Judah nodded, then welcomed Joseph into his house. No sooner had he entered, but the rabbi closed the door and sealed the windows, making sure that none were watching before turning back to his guest.

"What would you like to speak to me about?" Judah asked.

"Miriam came back from her visit to the hill country today," Joseph began.

"Is she well?" Judah asked.

"Yes, she is well," Joseph said slowly, suddenly realizing that he was stammering. "It's only that...well..." He hesitated: what was he doing? But he forced himself at last to say the words. "...she told me that she's with child." He quickly held up his hand. "But it's not mine! As _HaShem_ lives, I have never touched her."

Rabbi Judah's eyes widened; both at the revelation as well as the oath that Joseph made. No one would dare swear a false oath, especially in the name of the Most High, or else incur His anger.

"Are you certain?" Judah asked at last.

"Yes," Joseph sighed. "She told me so herself."

Judah sighed, shaking his long gray beard as he sat himself down upon a stool. "Oh, what times have befallen us, when sin abounds and vows are dishonored!" He turned back to Joseph. "Did she cry out?"

"What?" Joseph asked, perplexed by the rabbi's question.

"If a woman is taken by force by a man in a field," Judah paraphrased. "And is so dishonored, she shall be blameless, for she cried out and no one was there to answer her."

"I-I don't know where she was!" Joseph exclaimed, his frustration breaking through his restraint. "Why does it matter if she cried out or not, or if she was in a field or not?"

"It makes all the difference," Judah said, patient with the carpenter. "If she cried out, then she was violated; she may be ashamed, but she will be blameless. If she did not cry out, then she is guilty of adultery."

Joseph's mouth fell open in shock. Though he was not learned in Torah, as rabbi Judah was, he knew from his earliest teaching that adultery was a grievous sin against the Torah; the punishment thereof was death by stoning. He then realized awkwardly that he had no answer for the rabbi; he cursed himself that he hadn't let her speak further. He couldn't answer yes in truth, as he didn't know; and if he answered no, Miriam's life would be forfeit and her family would be dishonored.

"I need your help, rabbi," Joseph finally let out. "I don't wish to bring shame and death upon Miriam or her family."

Rabbi Judah sighed. "There is a way. It is not the way of _HaShem_ , that a covenant be dishonored. But Moses, peace be upon him, gave us a way. If you so choose, I will write a bill divorcing you from Miriam. All that is needed are two witnesses."

Joseph's first reaction was relief. But again he did not speak. Into his mind came the image of Miriam's face; he knew that she had spoken no lies. He suddenly realized that he was torn. This was the most suitable solution to this problem, to quietly divorce Miriam so as to bring no public shame upon either of them (at least as he thought presently). And yet he could not bring himself to do it outright.

"Does this answer suit your problem, Joseph?" Judah asked.

"This is a great decision," Joseph sighed, shaking his head. "I cannot decide at once. I...I think I should sleep on this first."

"A wise and sensible choice," Judah nodded. "I will pray that _HaShem_ guide your heart and mind in this time of trouble."

Joseph nodded, thanked the rabbi, then left his house.

* * *

The response of Miriam's parents had been exactly what she had expected. Joachim wailed and tore his clothes, and Hannah looked upon her daughter with shame and sadness in her eyes. Miriam told them everything that the angel said, but this did nothing to assuage their grief and anger. For the rest of the day, they said nothing to her and Joachim wouldn't even remain in the same room as her. If they per-chanced to cross paths, he would avert his eyes and weep. So the day passed quietly and awkwardly for the house of Joachim. Miriam continued about the day's chores by herself, doing her best to remain composed. Though she had expected their response to be so, she was not prepared for the full magnitude of how her news would affect them, especially her poor father. Seeing both of them so distraught broke her heart; but she had told them the truth and there was nothing else she could do for them if they could not, or would not, accept the truth.

Nightfall in Nazareth. Miriam had finished the day's chores and was preparing for sleep. She took for herself the cloak she used for a blanket and made for the corner of the house where she slept. But as she was preparing to lie down, she saw her mother Hannah approach her with a small lit lamp in her hand.

"What do you need, mama?" Miriam asked.

Hannah made no response but slowly approached her daughter. In the flickering light of the lamp, Miriam saw that her mother's face was stern and her lips were set. Immediately Miriam's heart quailed: she knew that look, for it was the look her mother gave her when she had been naughty as a child. She had come to know and fear that look, for Hannah was grimly serious when bearing that face.

"Mama, I told you the truth," Miriam said, a hint of worry in her voice at seeing the stern look on her mother's face.

"Stand up," Hannah ordered, gesturing with her hand.

Miriam obeyed immediately and stood up without question or hesitation. To her great surprise, Hannah knelt down and placed her hand up her skirt. Miriam involuntarily squirmed but said nothing: her mother was not to be questioned when she was this serious. Suddenly, Hannah pulled back her hand with a gasp and a look of surprise on her face.

"You're still a maid!" Hannah breathed. "What nonsense is this?"

"I told you the truth," Miriam repeated.

Hannah looked at Miriam for a long, quiet minute, teetering between doubt and belief. Her brown eyes were brimming with tears as she remained in stunned silence. She said nothing but walked outside to let loose the springs within her head. Miriam quietly sobbed and prayed to _HaShem_ before going to sleep.

* * *

It was morning. Joseph was at his workshop, carving wood. He heard a commotion coming from somewhere near the center of town. He found himself moving towards the commotion, out of curiosity to what it could be. The closer he got, he began to clearly discern words from the midst of the noise. None of them were good words: he caught such words as "adulteress", "shame" and "whore" being thrown about with frightening regularity. His heart dropped when he heard the sound of stones striking against the ground.

He ran the rest of the way toward the commotion and saw his worst fears were realized. Miriam was in the midst of a crown of their friends and neighbors: not a single friendly or sympathetic face was among the lot. Stones were flying and striking the ground around Miriam; some found their mark. Joseph cried out, but he made no noise: he couldn't speak. He held up his hands, trying to get the attention of those within the crowd, but suddenly gave a start: his own hands were stained with blood.

Horror filled Joseph's heart. This wasn't what he had wanted to happen. He had made the most suitable choice in a hard position: how had the news gotten out so quickly? Was it the rabbi? Was someone else listening? He had to make them stop: he tried to move, but his feet were as heavy as logs and he could not move. He could only watch in stunned, horrified silence as stone after stone struck Miriam, and more and more blood stained his hands. Darkness began to descend upon Nazareth; he was all alone save for a single tall figure that stood out from the crowd. As the darkness fell, Joseph caught one last glimpse of the scene of horror: Miriam was lying on the ground, her back to the crowds and her arms shielding her stomach; all the people of the crowd were glaring at her in anger and didn't seem to notice Joseph, save for the lone tall figure. He turned and began to walk slowly towards him.

"Joseph, son of the house of David," said the man. "I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of the Most High. Fear not to take Miriam as your wife. The child within her womb is not of flesh, but of the Spirit of Holiness."

Joseph was frozen in place, still unable to speak. But if he could speak, he wouldn't have been able to for the awe of what he had just heard. But the angel wasn't finished.

"She will bear a son," said Gabriel; there was a calming surety in his voice. "And you shall call Him Joshua, _**Jehovah**_ is salvation; for He shall save the people from their sins."

A jolt went through Joseph's body down to his leg and he found himself lying on the floor in his own house, and the darkness of night filled the room. He breathed a sigh of relief; it was merely a dream. But his heart was still racing and his forehead was covered in sweat. Had he been a more impulsive man, he would have dressed himself at once, and made all haste to rabbi Judah's house to tell him that the divorce was off.

Instead, he laid back down upon his cot, trying to fall asleep again. The words of the angel rang in his ears, and the horrific sights he had seen were burned into his mind, so that they returned when he closed his eyelids: try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He lay awake instead, much calmer than before, and reasoned with himself what he should do and what would happen if he did as the angel said. His good reputation would surely be ruined, and he might even lose his business as a result. He certainly couldn't tell anyone the truth about this; who would believe that _HaShem_ created life within a maid outside of the natural way? They would decry it as an excuse, and blame him for seducing Miriam. His honor would be compromised and no one would want to do business with someone who was publicly held as a seducer and an oath-breaker.

He thought about his namesake, and what he would do: what would Joseph do had become almost a motto in his youth. It was in his blood, as his family traced their lineage to Judah, who was the son of Jacob, also called Israel, the father of Joseph. As tradition held it, the Joseph of old was studious and diligent beyond measure: from the house of Pharaoh's captain, to the prison, and then to the Pharaoh's palace, the Joseph of old excelled in all that he did. It had been an example and a measure of excellence up to which his father, who was also called Jacob, had held him. Therefore he flogged his mind, seeking some memory of the story of his namesake that could help him. Slowly it dawned upon him: the wife of Pharaoh's captain had tried to seduce him, and he chose prison and the shame of a false accusation rather than to dishonor _HaShem_ and his master by defiling his wife.

Could he do any less in this matter?

* * *

The sun rose above the little town of Nazareth. In the house of Joachim, there was deafening silence. Joachim himself was no longer wailing, but his silence wasn't much better. Miriam went about with the morning chores, which generally including preparing food for her and her family. It would take many hours and the earlier started the better. Usually Hannah would be working with her, but she wasn't there presently. Miriam understood; her little revelation had broken the hearts of her parents.

She realized that they would need water for the cooking, and so Miriam found an earthen jar and prepared to go to the well. As she rose, she saw Hannah standing before her.

"Mama..." Miriam began, but stopped short. She could see the sorrow in her mother's eyes, the regret.

Then to her surprise, Hannah approached her, took the jar from her hands, placed it on the floor, then threw her arms around her daughter's shoulders. Miriam wrapped her arms around her mother in return, pleasantly surprised by this change of heart. Hannah choked back tears as she pulled back and looked her daughter in the eyes: it was like looking into a mirror and seeing her own reflection in so young a form.

"Don't be afraid, child," Hannah said. "I believe you." Miriam's eyes welled with tears of joy and she breathed a bit easier.

"What will happen now?" Miriam asked.

"I'll talk to your father about this," Hannah explained. "I doubt he'll believe it, but at least I'll get him to stop sulking."

"Thank you, mama," Miriam said.

They parted and Miriam took the jar and made her way out of the house. Even as she left the door, she looked back and saw her mother smiling back at her. She smiled in return, and then went on her way. As she went, she greeted those who she saw on her way to the well. Perhaps she wanted to see how they would react, if they had heard any rumors about her; maybe she wanted to see the happiness of her neighbors one last time, before word got out.

She approached the well, sat down upon the edge, and let down the bucket. Once it hit the water, she began the laborious task of hauling it back to the top. She then poured its cool contents into the jar slowly, so as to not spill a drop. As she did this, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. She paused for a moment, placed the bucket on the stone edge of the well, and turned around. There she saw Joseph standing a few feet away from her. She smiled, then averted her eyes.

"It's not decent for us to be seen alone together," Miriam said. "You know that." She turned back to her work; after what had happened yesterday, she worried that there might yet be harsh words in store for her now.

"The child's name is Joshua," Joseph stated.

Miriam paused, stood up from the well, and looked at Joseph. "H-How did you know?"

Joseph looked this way and that, then took a step closer to her. "An angel appeared to me in a dream. He told me that the child is of _HaShem_. I..." He stammered, then took another step closer to her. "Miriam, I believe you."

"You knew I wouldn't lie about something this important," she replied. She was torn between frustration that he hadn't bothered to listen to or believe her at the onset, as well as untold relief.

"I should have listened," Joseph said. "Forgive me, Miriam." He then took another step closer to her. "I will claim the child as my own."

"What?" Miriam asked, surprised at his sudden forwardness. "No, don't be foolish."

"It's not foolishness, Miriam," Joseph said.

"I cannot ask you to do this," Miriam retorted. "It wouldn't be true, we both know that." Joseph made no response. "It would ruin your reputation!"

"Then so be it," Joseph stated with sudden finality. "The angel told me to take you as my wife, and I will do just that. People can say what they like, as long as you're safe. Any shame that I might gain from this is my burden to bear." He turned away. Miriam reached out her hand and took hold of his calloused hand.

"It is _ours_ to bear, my husband-to-be," Miriam said. Joseph turned around and looked Miriam in the eyes. She smiled at him and he smiled in return. _HaShem_ had guided and protected them and brought them through so dark a time, providing them with the most suitable option according to His timeline.

Little did Miriam or Joseph know that they would not smile again for a very long time.

* * *

 **(AN: So a lot of stuff happening in this chapter. Some trivia here, the name of the Nazareth rabbi is from the 1970 mini-series Jesus of Nazareth [for better or for worse, that show has inspired my view of the events of the Gospel]. The incident with Hannah was completely made up by yours truly and will likely cause controversy. In brief, I will only say that I do not believe that Miriam was "eternally a virgin". Unlike the Protoevangelion of James [an apocryphal New Testament book that was only slightly used in this writing], her hand doesn't get cursed as a result of this.)**

 **(Before any of you accuse me of "adding" anything to the Gospel stories, let me just state that, like the Book of Jasher and other pieces of Hebrew legend from Ginzberg, I was very critical of anything within said legends that disparaged the nature of God or outright contradicted the Biblical account when I read them. I only used these outside stories to flesh out the narrative of my story, and the use of them is not in any way a seal of approval or a statement of the inspirational authority of those books. I leave that to each and every person's individual conscience.)**

 **(That line about the over-diligence of Joseph is actually a personal thing. In regards to diligence and industriousness in household chores and the job field, my family would always hold me to the impossible standard of Old Testament Joseph [can't call him "the son of Jacob" since New Testament Joseph's father is _also_ called Jacob]. In this story, I decided to use that annoying part of my past for good. Hope you found it enjoyable.)**


	6. The Secret Writings

**(AN: Now that we've had two chapters over 4k words in count, let's dial it back with a nice short one. Once again, baby steps.)**

 **(Now you will notice something in this chapter which betrays my own personal beliefs, particularly about the ninth chapter of the Book of Daniel. I don't believe it speaks to Antiochus or some future "false messiah", but to the true One. As described in this chapter, it gives the magi an approximation for Joshua's birth, as well as my own version of back-story for the gifts. If you don't believe as I do about Daniel 9, that's fine: you can chalk it up to artistic license.)**

* * *

 **The Secret Writings**

Many months had passed since the conclave of the wise men had seen the new star. With renewed fervor they continued to study the Torah and the prophets, eager to know all that they could learn about the coming of the Anointed One, the King of glory. A good deal of their own personal wealth went into this venture, as they sought out as many copies of the Holy Scriptures as they could find. Day after day, week after week, month after month, they continued in their search. All the while, Melchior was found less and less frequently among the others. His servants were seen, delivering food and wine and scrolls to him, but they said not where he was or what he was doing. Therefore the others continued their study in the large group without Melchior.

After a time, it came to pass that, as the evening was coming on and they were retiring, one of Melchior's servants arrived before Gaspar and Balthazar and said that Melchior had invited them to come with him. They agreed to this and followed the servant to a private study in a high tower. Here they found their friend, in good health, but seemingly beside himself as he examined several scrolls laid out before him.

"Brother!" Gaspar greeted. "Praise to the Highest! We feared we had lost you."

"Hmm, what was that?" Melchior asked, looking up from his work. "Lost? No, no, my friend, I believe that I may have at last _found_ something we have been seeking."

"What new thing could we have found?" Balthazar asked. "We have searched every writing of Moses and the prophets. There is nothing about the Anointed One that we could have missed."

"Is that so?" asked Melchior. "Does it not trouble you, then, my brothers, that we have yet found no clear time for when the Anointed shall come?"

"Is that not how it should be?" Gaspar asked. "Prophecies have always been vague, uncertain, and open to interpretation."

"Not so with the words of the One True God," Melchior returned. "We three have been taught in the secret truth of Zardhusht. We know that there is certain truth in what the Highest says. As we have learned, the prophets of the Jews have spoken truth when their words have come to pass. There is no variation in His words."

"So then there _is_ no clear prophecy of when the Anointed will be," reasoned Gaspar. "Why then do we search the Holy writings?"

"One would think, Gaspar," Balthazar added. "That the presence of the star was proof enough. It has remained in the western sky, shining throughout the day and the night, though faint and dim in the sun's light."

"That is true, Balthazar," Melchior stated. "Which is the reason for why I have called you all here. I believe I have found something that should send us packing our goods and making a hasty journey to Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Gaspar. "That is many parasangs away, a journey of long months. Why should we go so great a distance on account of a star?"

"More than a star," Melchior replied. "I believe I have found something concrete. That is why I have summoned you here, to see what I have found." The other two leaned in and gazed at the scrolls on his table.

"These are the writings of Daniel," Balthazar gasped. "I thought these writings were sealed."

"If I have done wrong in opening these writings to you," Melchior replied. "Then may the fault be upon my head and not yours. But I believe that the time of the fulfillment of Daniel's words has come."

"But Daniel is no prophet," Gaspar commented. "The Jews hold that no prophet came after the destruction of Solomon's Temple."

"The elders and the writers of the oral and written tradition of the Jews may not hold that Daniel is a prophet," Melchior stated. "But are we not rather to believe the word of the Highest than of simple men? Remember what we have read: a prophet is proved by the fulfilling of his prophecies. Daniel's words have certainly come to pass, as surely as Babylon fell and Alexander conquered the Persians. Therefore, though the elders of the Jews say that he is no prophet, yet there is verity in his words." He pointed with the reading stylus to a line, which he translated for them.

"'Know ye therefore, that from the decree to restore and rebuild Jerusalem unto Messiah the Prince shall be nine and threescore weeks.'" He looked at his companions, ecstatic as he read these words. "Do you see this? A precise time for the coming of the Messiah!"

"But that says nine and threescore weeks," Gaspar, always the reasonable one, commented. "From the decree to rebuild Jerusalem. We know that Cyrus the Great gave the decree to restore and rebuild Jerusalem over four hundred years ago; surely this prophecy has already come to pass."

"If the words here refer to literal days, that is," Melchior added. "But, as we saw in the words of the prophet Ezekiel, when the Highest says a day in prophecy, it means a year in our world."

"But..." Balthazar mused, making calculations in his head. "...that would leave the prophecy's fulfilling still some thirty years off from us. We know not if we will be alive then."

"This too I have considered," Melchior stated. "But the prophecy did not say of the Messiah's birth, but of his coming. Look here again..." He pointed to the verse before. "'Seventy weeks are determined for thy people, and for the Holy city: to sin no more, to bring an end to transgressions, to reconcile for iniquity, to bring in everlasting righteousness...and to anoint the Holy One!'"

"But this says seven days more," Gaspar stated.

"Seven years," Balthazar clarified.

"It gives the Jews a span of time to justify themselves and to anoint the Holy One," Melchior said. "But in their history, a King is anointed after they are grown, not as a child. Here we see two different prophecies: one for the end of the time of mercy and another for the coming of the King of Glory at the beginning of the week, when He shall confirm the covenant with many, as it says here." He pointed with the stylus to the end of the column.

"At the beginning of the seven years," Balthazar stated.

"Precisely!" exclaimed Melchior triumphantly. "Therefore, since we know that He will be grown when He is anointed and confirms the covenant, that would mean that His birth would be thirty years earlier! Don't you see? The King of Glory will be born within our very lifetimes!"

"But that is assuming," Gaspar stated. "That the coming of the Messiah that Daniel speaks of concerns His anointing, rather than His birth."

"Have faith, Gaspar!" Melchior returned. "We have hundreds, nay, thousands of years of prophets speaking of the coming of the Messiah, the King of Glory. We have the star that Baalam and Jeremiah spoke of visible in the sky, by day and by night. And now we have Daniel giving a precise time for the coming of the Messiah that is within our lifetimes! What further proofs do you need?"

"I agree," Balthazar muttered. "But what shall we do with this knowledge?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Melchior asked. "We must pack our belongings and make haste to Jerusalem. If we have found this knowledge, surely the Jews will know of it also: they will tell us where He is."

"And if we do find the Messiah," Gaspar inquired. "What shall we do?"

"Worship Him, of course!" Melchior replied, as though it was apparent. "The Highest has sent the King of Glory; is He not worthy of worship?"

"Worship Him, yes," Balthazar added. "But we must give Him something also. Melchizedek gave Abraham bread and wine when he blessed him. Shall we not bring more to the Anointed One? Shall we not give great things to the King of Glory?"

"Yes, yes!" Melchior exclaimed. "The Highest owns the cattle on a thousand hills; all the gold in the world is not enough to give to His Anointed!"

"But He is a priest as well," Balthazar added. "He will purify His people, and confirm the covenant. Only the finest and most fragrant of incenses for so great a priest."

"Come, let us tell the others and begin packing for the journey!" Melchior stated. "It will be a long and dangerous journey. With our gifts, we must arm our servants." He and Balthazar began to leave the study, so fervent in their revelation that they had almost quite forgotten Gaspar.

He remained behind. For him, this revelation was still too good to be true. Of a certain, he wished that it were so as well, if only that he could share in the joy of his brothers. He was tempted to go with them and see for himself; clearly the signs were present, both in sacred writ and in the stars as well. Feeling that he needed to examine this passage in Daniel for himself, he sat down at the table and, picking up the stylus that Melchior had dropped in his ecstasy, began to quietly read what was written. Suddenly he stopped and re-examined a passage that had apparently been forgotten.

"'After threescore and two weeks shall the Messiah be cut off, but not for Himself.'"

His mouth hung open in shock. The Messiah was to die. The King of Glory would be cut off. He had seen these words before in the words of Isaiah, when he spoke of the Servant of the Almighty: the One who was to suffer for the transgressions of the people. A dreadful realization came upon Gaspar's mind as he cross-examined the words of Daniel and Isaiah: the King of Glory was to deal prudently with the people of Israel, and for no fault of His own, to suffer and bear many sorrows.

There were the words of the prophets, spoken by the inspiration of the Almighty. Words of hope and promise, but also of doom. Now he was certain that he had to go with the others; even if it were the will of the Highest that he live some thirty years more, the King of Glory might be dead and cut off by that time. Gaspar determined that he would see Him now, while there was yet a chance that He lived. But what gift could he bring to the Anointed One, in light of what was revealed to him?

* * *

 **(AN: A time skip of six months seemed an appropriate place for a cutaway to the magi. For those who are interested, a 'parasang' is a Persian unit of measurement roughly translating to a league [that is, roughly three miles or 5.5 kilometers]: I threw that in simply because I was spammed with 'parasang' throughout _Legends of the Jews_ so much that it's stuck in my head!)**

 **(Also, something that was brought up in the last chapter which I only half-mentioned in a PM but wanted to spell it out in an author's note. Another reason I went with the Matthew 1 version of Joshua's lineage as opposed to the Luke 3 version is that two of His half-brothers are named James and Joseph. Obviously Joseph [or Joses in the KJV] is named after his father, but James is a variation of Jacob and would make sense as a name given to one of Joseph's children if his grandfather was also named Jacob!)**


	7. A Journey South I

**(AN: This is the longest chapter of this story: it was SO long that I decided to cut it in half and publish only one half at first and the other half as the second half of this chapter. It was also so long that I almost gave up writing entirely because of how long it was! One reason I wrote this so exhaustively long is because, as I mentioned before about the 17 mile walk years ago, I wanted to get across how long it would have taken them to make the journey by foot.)**

* * *

 **A Journey South I  
**

Within less than a month, rumors of a scandal began to circulate around Nazareth. Gray heads and gray beards wagged in sorrow and shame at the news, while women sighed and cursed the wiles of the stronger sex. Apparently Miriam, the daughter of Joachim and Hannah, who was also betrothed to Joseph the carpenter, was with child. Those who knew them couldn't make sense out of what they had heard, and so invented their own explanation for these sordid events. The story widely accepted by those who heard the news was that Joseph, usually a just and wise man, had succumbed to lust and so seduced Miriam, who was widely considered to be quite virtuous herself. Others, of course, blamed Miriam and cursed the wiles of the fairer sex, saying that she had seduced Joseph. A third, and undoubtedly more nefarious, explanation was that, while she had been away in En-Karim, Miriam had been taken in some wild place and so made the sport of a vagabond, or perhaps even the Romans. Perhaps it was the boredom and restlessness of small town life that caused them to concoct these scenarios, much more sordid than the events themselves: perhaps, even, they felt a sense of self-justification. If even the most virtuous woman and the most just of men could stumble and fall into sin, then any failure to keep the Torah on their part was quite small in comparison.

But the truth was something quite different and rather complicated. Only five people knew what had really happened, and of that number, only three believed the true story. Rabbi Judah was one of the two who knew and did not quite believe the truth as it had been told him. The very next day after Joseph came privately to his house and opened his mind to him, he returned and said that all talk of divorcing Miriam was to be put away: he would marry her and take the child as his own. The old man shook his head at the news, and reluctantly agreed to marry them, though he warned Joseph that _HaShem_ would doubtless not bless their union: it was, after all, as far as he could have guessed, done to conceal the sin that had been done.

The other who didn't quite believe was Joachim, Miriam's father. Try as Hannah might to explain to her husband that their daughter was telling the truth, he couldn't believe that a child could be born outside of the natural order of things. To the old man's credit, though, he was less churlish around his daughter and managed, after a few days, to at last speak to her and tolerate her presence without hiding his face or weeping for shame; he still found it hard to look her in the eyes, but he did his best. She was, after all, still his daughter.

So the days passed by and, before long, there was a wedding in Nazareth. Most of those in attendance were there only as a matter of courtesy or obligation to tradition. Of a certain they had enough friends and family in Nazareth who would have attended; but few of them were present for this occasion. Only Joachim and Hannah and a few of their closest friends were there, as well as some of Joseph's closest friends as well. Rabbi Judah performed the ceremony, but with a kind of strained and awkward discomfort. There was little celebration and the bride and groom had to walk to Joseph's house, where the wedding feast would be held. It was a small one, as there were not many guests for the wedding and both Joseph and Miriam's parents were poor.

There would be no wedding night for either of them. This would be breaking with tradition, but Joseph had told Miriam prior to the wedding that he would wait until the child was born. After all, they knew the truth, no matter what their neighbors muttered into their hands every time they saw them. This was a relief to Miriam: she had secretly worried about her wedding night from the day she had been told of the betrothal. Now, at least, the wedding night was something she could put out of her mind for the foreseeable future. There were, of course, other things that occupied her mind at the moment: much bigger things.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Little by little, slowly but surely, Miriam began to show more and more. The nausea that had overcome her for the first three months finally died down, but now she was markedly slower in her movement. There was still work to be done, though she couldn't do as much of the harder work as before: Hannah knew this and would often stop over at Joseph's house to see if her daughter needed any help. Miriam protested, but Hannah insisted that it was for her own good. Aside from eating more - the old adage of an expectant mother 'eating for two' - Miriam found herself craving salty food in particular: she would often stow away for herself a few olives away from the morning meal.

In addition to this, Miriam became painfully aware of the looks and words of her neighbors. She knew that people would talk, and at the time it hadn't bothered her very much. Lately, however, it seemed to agitate her more than usual. She would be on her way to the well or the village square to buy food, and see someone she knew in the streets. If she said "shalom" to them, they wouldn't return the greeting. If she said nothing, she saw them whispering to themselves beneath their hands when they thought she wasn't listening. In her mind, she could almost see the vile words they must be speaking manifest before her. Later that day, or that week, and without warning, those words would come into her mind to haunt her and send her bursting into tears.

Joseph did the best he could to comfort her, but he could not fully empathize with the burden which Miriam bore. At length, she broke her mind to her mother; to her surprise, Hannah was understanding and sympathetic. She told Miriam that this was the way of child-bearing women, to become exceedingly emotional while they were carrying. It helped Miriam that she could confide to her mother, and it gave her hope that, when the time came for her to be delivered, her mother might be there for her yet again. But it didn't help when her mother said that she could do nothing but simply endure it, as it would pass in time.

 _Why must serving_ HaShem _be so difficult,_ Miriam wondered in her mind.

* * *

One month became two, and two months became three; then three more were added, and the time of Miriam's delivery was drawing near. She was now very large, looking as though she had hidden a large earthen jar beneath her robe. Moving about was quite tiresome, and her feet ached constantly as a result. She had none to alleviate this pain but herself, and she could not reach her feet by reason of her swollen stomach. Any news that came to her would come through Joseph, as it took her almost twice as long to walk to the village square as normal. She was seated in their house, sewing a blanket that would wrap the baby in once He arrived. A wave of emotion passed over her and tears of happiness fell from her eyes: in almost no time at all, the promised Messiah would come. The hope of ages, the glory of the children of Israel...

As she thought on this, the door opened. She turned and saw Joseph enter into the house. She smiled and very slowly and awkwardly rose to her feet. She noticed that his shoulders were low and his face downcast: he looked as one who bore a burden of exceedingly heavy weight.

"What's wrong, Joseph?" she asked.

"I just heard the news in the village square," Joseph said. "Caesar has levied another taxation."

"What else is new!" Miriam exclaimed, rolling her eyes. The Romans' taxes were something everyone heard about, even those at home: their whole lives were affected by their earthly conquerors in one way or another.

"It's more than that, I'm afraid," Joseph explained. "They already tax us everywhere, even in the city-gates where men do business. This is different, though: it's a counting of our people. The decree specifically stated that we are to be taxed each according to our homeland."

"What does that mean?" Miriam asked.

"It means returning to the land of our fathers," Joseph stated. "Not just Israel, but, for us, the land given to the tribe of Judah. For me, being of the house of David, that means going to Bethlehem." He sighed. "And you must come with me."

"What?" Miriam asked.

"You're my wife, in the sight of _HaShem_ ," Joseph replied. "That means we are one. We cannot be separated from each other, especially not now."

"I don't understand," said Miriam.

"Surely you must know what they say about us," Joseph returned, wringing his hands and pacing the floor. There was a look of frustration in his eyes as he spoke: not for his wife, but for things as they had transpired. Usually calm and stoic, months of posturing and pretending to ignore what he had heard and seen finally broke down and he opened his mind.

"They've been saying them behind our backs for months," he said. "Horrible things. If I go alone, they might do something to you while I'm away."

Miriam sighed. "But they're our friends and neighbors! They wouldn't do anything, surely."

"Oh, I think they might," Joseph replied. "And I'm surprised you're so willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. You've suffered their ire more than I have."

Miriam nodded. "That's true, beloved. But I'd hope they wouldn't do anything rash."

"As do I," Joseph returned. "Just as well, I'd rather err on the side of safety; not only for you, but for the child." Miriam bit her lower lip and her head sank down. "I know this is hard on you, my love."

"It's not the rumors," Miriam said, shaking her head; her voice was breaking. "I can't make the journey to Bethlehem on foot, not like this!" She sniffed, fighting back against the tears. "I had expected to give birth here in Nazareth, where mama can serve as midwife."

"I'm so very sorry for this," Joseph replied, trying his best to comfort her. "Would to _HaShem_ that we were free of Rome and this would not have happened!" He paused in his pacing and stepped closer to Miriam. "But that's why He's come, yes? To restore the kingdom to Israel."

Miriam nodded, a soft smile appearing upon her face amid the sorrow etched there. She gently slid one hand beneath the curve of her stomach, as if embracing the One who now rested beneath her heart. A strange sense of comfort came over her, despite the fears that were rising up within her heart and mind on the wings of this news. Inside she made up her mind, then looked up at Joseph.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

"In three days, after the Sabbath," Joseph replied. "I'll make all the arrangements for the journey. Do not be afraid, beloved. It will be alright."

She smiled and Joseph returned the expression, then placed a kiss on her forehead before leaving the house once again. He said that he had business at the workshop which he had to attend to and said that he would return. Once the door closed, Miriam, who had remained standing where she had been when Joseph arrived, buried her face in her hands. The reality of what she had agreed to was now settling in, overwhelming her with worry. Any day now she could give birth, and the thought of delivering on the side of the road in the middle of the desert was terrifying. She had expected to have her mother Hannah with her when she delivered; nay, it had been her hope. Now it seemed she would likely be forced to do so alone and in the wilderness.

But a worse fear now crept into her mind, something that even the promise of the angel could not wholly assuage: what if she died in childbirth? It was not uncommon; even the noble women - Jew or gentle - who could afford the best midwives in Israel, were not safe from this fate. She could not recall anything that the angel Gabriel had said regarding her role after the baby was born: the Messiah's birth had been foretold, but what about her place in all of this? Would she not live to see the Promised One come into His own? This horrifying prospect seemed now almost certain, as a result of delivering on the side of a desert road or in a strange place, without the assistance of her mother for midwife.

She buried herself in such work as she could still do in her condition. It was Yom Shishi, the day before the Sabbath, and their journey would take place on Yom Rishon, the day after the Sabbath. There was plenty of work to do for poor Miriam: the house would have to be put in order for the Sabbath, as well as for their journey south. In addition, she would need to prepare food for the Sabbath and pack such food as could be taken with them on their journey. Though she had made the journey south as far as En-Karim, this time she was the one in charge of all the preparations, for herself and her husband, as her mother Hannah had done for her on her journey. Never before had she truly realized and appreciated the magnitude of what her mother did for the entire family every day, than when she herself had to do that and more before the setting of the sun, while heavy with child no less!

So the day wore on and Miriam did her best to have everything done before the sun set and the shofar was blown to signify the beginning of the Sabbath. In addition to a goat's skin of water and several loaves of flat bread, Miriam stowed for herself a small delicacy: a cloth filled with ripe olives. Just outside, she heard Joseph's voice and the snorting of an animal. Awkwardly she pushed herself up to her feet and walked to the door to open it. Outside the door of the house, she saw Joseph leading a gray donkey by the bride in its mouth.

"What's this?" Miriam asked.

"For the journey," replied Joseph. "You didn't think I'd let you walk to Bethlehem on foot, did you?"

Miriam smiled, and her heart swelled with emotion. "How could you have afforded this?"

Joseph hesitated briefly before speaking. "I sold some of my tools to the copper-smith."

"Oh, Joseph," Miriam protested. "We can't accept this!"

"It might be helpful with the workshop when we get back," Joseph optimistically reasoned.

"But your work!" Miriam continued. "It hasn't been going well these past six months, as I feared. We can't afford an animal!"

"It's the least I can do," Joseph said. "For you as well as for the child."

"But, Joseph..."

"My love," Joseph sighed. "I know that you're good-mannered, but you needn't stand on ceremony for me. It is done; talking about it will only bring regret, which will help nothing. I know the journey would be tiring on any man, much more a woman with child."

Miriam smiled, and placed her hand above her heart. "Thank you, my love."

Joseph then took the animal back to the workshop, where it would be secured until their journey. He then came back, looking hopeful; but Miriam caught the hint of worry in his eyes. This purchase must have put him out, and she knew, or guessed, that it was quite difficult for him to part with his trusted tools. Nevertheless, she had appreciated the gesture.

"Is everything ready for the Sabbath?" Joseph asked as he entered the house. Miriam closed the door behind him, then turned about to give him an answer.

"Yes," she said. "I have food and water for the journey."

"Excellent!" Joseph smiled. "We can leave at first light after the Sabbath. Now, is supper ready? It's been a long day and I'm famished."

"You're just in time," Miriam told him.

* * *

The next day came and Miriam and Joseph went to the synagogue for morning worship. She remained in the back part of the room with the other women and the children under twelve years of age, and Joseph took his place in the main room. Rabbi Judah read from the words of the prophet Isaiah. Once this was done, and the audience had said a solemn "Amen", he returned the Torah to its alcove, then spoke these parting words to his audience.

"When the Messiah comes, will he find a people whose hearts are ready to receive him?" he asked. "If we are to be worthy of the Anointed of _HaShem_ , we must afflict our souls, purify our minds, and turn our hearts to the God of our fathers, who gave the Torah by the hand of Moses. 'Hear O Israel: _HaShem_ thy God is One. And thou shalt love _HaShem_ with all thy heart and with all they soul and with all thy might.' In so doing, we shall be blessed by the coming of _HaShem_ 's Messiah in its due season. As it is written, 'if My people, who are called by My Name shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek My face, and turn from their wickedness; then will I hear from Heaven, and will forgive their sin, and heal their land.'"

"Amen," said the people in the synagogue in response to these words.

Once the service was concluded, Joseph made his way out of the main room of the synagogue to find Miriam. Of old, he would have stayed behind and asked such questions as were on his mind; though he was but a carpenter, the people of Israel had been instructed by Moses to talk of the Torah among themselves. But in the past six months, Joseph found that his friends and neighbors were less cordial than they had usually been. As such, he gave them a polite shalom and instead sought out Miriam to take her back to his house. When they had returned, they talked among themselves about what had been spoken in the synagogue that day.

"I love hearing old Judah read from the Torah," Joseph said. "Especially the words of the prophets concerning the Messiah. It fills me with joy, knowing that those words will be fulfilled within our lifetimes. Does it not make you happy, love?"

"Yes, Joseph," Miriam nodded. It was the truth. Her one consolation these past six months, through all the gossip, rumors, and the hurtful glances from her neighbors, was that the Promised One was resting beneath her heart.

Suddenly Miriam felt a foot push up against her lower ribs. She quietly groaned away the discomfort, looked down, and said: "Oy, don't You ever sleep? All night You do this and during the day as well?"

By and by, however, the child calmed down and Miriam and Joseph were able to enjoy the solace of the Sabbath day. As the sun went down that evening, they turned in early: they had a big day tomorrow with the start of their journey. As per the arrangement that had been made before the 'wedding ceremony', they slept apart from each other. Miriam was greatly happy that Joseph had honored this agreement. As the night deepened, she law awake, trying to find a position to sleep on her mat: difficult even on good days, but almost impossible in her current condition. At last she sighed and curled up on her side, with one hand upon her stomach, as had become a habit for her these past months. Tiny fingers dragged across the inside of her belly, directly below where her hand rested. Miriam smiled as waves of emotion washed over her: whether He was tossing and turning in some deep sleep, or whether it was the bond between mother and child, she neither knew nor cared. It made her joyful to know that there was life within her, and that it was the Promised Messiah. It dawned upon her how small she was; of all the women in Israel to bring forth the Messiah, why had she been chosen? As she lay there, it dawned upon her once again that they would be going on a long and dangerous trip in the morning.

"God of our fathers," Miriam prayed. "Hear the plea of your maid-servant. Guard us on the road to Bethlehem. If it be Your will, let me live to see the salvation which You have prepared for us through Your Messiah. Amen."

* * *

The morning came far too soon for both of them. Miriam slept very little that night and was, therefore, the first one to rise that morning. She made one last sweep of the house, making sure that everything was in order before they left. She examined their provisions one last time and then brought out bread and water for Joseph for the morning meal, and secreted a small amount of olives for herself afterwards. She then woke up Joseph, who washed his face and hands before taking part of the morning meal; after he had eaten, she ate for herself. Once they had finished eating and Miriam was stowing away any leftovers to be taken with them on their journey, there was a knock at the door. Miriam halted what she was doing, pushed herself up onto her feet, and shuffled over to the door. Upon opening it, she was surprised to see Joachim and Hannah standing in the doorway before her.

"We've come to see you off on your journey," Joachim said.

Miriam managed a smile; it dawned on her just now that she really was going to be leaving today. But it meant a great deal to her that it was her father who was speaking to and looking at her, first of the two of them. Joseph gave them time to say their own private farewells as he went off to fetch and ready the donkey. Silence fell between the daughter and her father as Joseph left the house.

"Thank you, papa," Miriam said. "For coming out here to see us off. But you really didn't have to. We won't be staying in Bethlehem permanently."

" _HaShem_ willing," Joachim muttered, looking warily upward. "Still, the journey will be dangerous." He looked at Miriam, and then she averted her eyes quickly. In that brief moment, he caught a glimpse of her eyes; and it made him smile. It never truly dawned upon him until now just how much of his own features there were in his daughter's face.

"I don't understand the things that have happened these past months," Joachim said at last, slowly and hesitantly. "Still, you are my daughter and the child of my loins. I will not let you leave without my blessing."

Miriam smiled, her eyes brimming with tears of joy as she threw her arms around her father's shoulders. She only parted long enough to kiss him on each cheek. Then Joachim placed his hands upon her shoulders.

" _HaShem_ keep you safe," he said.

"Thank you, papa," Miriam said with a smile.

Hannah had brought food and water for them for their journey. Miriam dismissed this, as food was always in short supply - especially lately with everyone having to sell or trade what they had in order to fulfill their duty to Caesar - and she had Joseph had already brought supplies for themselves; her mother wouldn't take no for an answer and Miriam was obliged to reject the gift the set number of three times. When this was done, they went out to the workshop. Here Joseph had the donkey brought out and gave it a little bit of hay to eat, while he loaded their supplies onto the beast's back, as well as a blanket that would provide some comfort for Miriam when she was riding. It wasn't all that much, being little better than a rug that one would sit under while in their tent; but it was all he could get the day before the Sabbath. Joachim and Joseph together lifted Miriam up and set her onto the back of the beast: she didn't complain, for it was her first time riding on the back of an animal. Little did she know what was in store for her.

"We'll be back before long," Joseph assured Joachim and Hannah. "Once we've paid the tax."

"We will pray for your journey, and for a safe return," Joachim said. Hannah approached the animal and took Miriam's hands in her own.

"My little bird," Hannah said fondly, though with sadness in her eyes. Miriam couldn't keep from smiling: it was a nickname her mother had given her when she was very young. She had always said that the way she cried "mama!" over and over reminded her of little songbirds. "I wish I could be there with you, when your time comes."

"Don't be afraid, mama," Miriam said. It was strange to her, how her strong mother was now fearful for her daughter; and how she, though not immune to fear herself, now had to be strong and reassuring for both of them. " _HaShem_ will be with us." Hannah's brown eyes were brimming with tears, and Miriam realized that she was starting to tear up as well.

When all was at last said and done, Joseph took the reins of the donkey in one hand and a staff of wood in the other, then bade "shalom" to his in-laws. They returned the blessing many times over, and followed after them unto the edge of the town. From the back of the donkey, Miriam waved at them and bade them shalom in return. Slowly they left the hill upon which Nazareth was built, passing house after house of their friends and neighbors. It was not lost on Joseph that none of them were there to bid them farewell. By and by, they passed out of the uttermost limits of the town and set out on the long road that would take them at last to Bethlehem.

* * *

Miriam had made the journey south before by cart, when she had gone to En-Karim; she knew very quickly which she preferred. Perched atop the donkey's back, she pitched and heaved with every step it made upon the hard, rocky ground. Though there was a rug between her and the donkey's back, the animal's backbone was persistent and ever-present, undulating uncomfortably into her seat. Furthermore, as she was not underneath a tarp, she could feel the stifling, oppressive heat bearing down upon her from the sky every waking moment. Lastly, she could not rest underneath the covered wagon as she had before; now she had to remain awake and painfully aware of every long mile and every long hour of this great journey.

After leaving the hill of Nazareth, they passed on into the hill country. The journey was long and arduous, and the heat bore down upon their heads as they made their way. For the present, they met no one on the road; this dusty, dirty, little-used path that marked the main way out of Nazareth. Few could rightly call it a road who walked it, but it was their path; for this dirt-road led from the town of Nazareth to the main Roman road that went down to Jerusalem. Not a soul in Israel would have openly lauded Rome for their roads, but they were, nevertheless, the safest way of travel in these parts; at least one was less likely to chance any hazards while on the main road.

For many long hours of oppressive heat and deafening silence, broken only by the shuffling of Joseph's sandals, the plodding of hooves, and the occasional snorting of the animal, they made their way forward. The hill of Nazareth was now long since forgotten behind them. Joseph brought the donkey to a halt for a moment, and removed from the saddle a skin of water, which he drank and also shared with Miriam.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes, Joseph," Miriam nodded.

Joseph sighed, looking out across the desert, shielding his eyes from the sun that was still in the eastern sky, though high as it climbed towards noon. "We still have the rest of the day ahead of us," he said. "Once we cross the Jordan, we'll come to the highway that will lead us to Jerusalem."

"How long will it take us to reach the Holy City?" Miriam asked.

"If all goes well," Joseph replied. "We should come to the Sheep's Gate on the northern side of the city before noon on the fourth day of our journey. He looked this way and that across the land, his countenance falling.

"Is there trouble?" Miriam asked.

"No, no trouble," Joseph sighed. "Only regret. Rabbi Judah said that this land was given to the tribes of Zebulon and Naphtali by _HaShem_ , at the direction of Moses."

"Peace be upon him," Miriam said respectfully.

"Now our people have been scattered," Joseph added. "The strangers live among the gentiles, and even the tribe of Judah is not gathered together in the land we were given." He turned back to Miriam and managed a smile. "But that's going to change, isn't it? Once the Messiah comes."

Miriam smiled in return, then looked down and gently slid one hand beneath her large stomach, cradling it. The fear she had felt when told of this journey was, for the present, assuaged by the knowledge of the great purpose to which she had been called. She had, by bearing this burden of HaShem, come into the great design of the Almighty for His people Israel.

As for Joseph, his mind was on the present and the long, dusty, hot road ahead of them. "We must be off, now. Resting won't bring us to Bethlehem any sooner."

Miriam could not fault his reasoning: the sooner they got to the end of their journey, the better, and lingering overmuch along the way would only delay their progress. Nonetheless, she wished that they could have remained only a little while longer: the journey compounded the discomfort of her condition, and it was abated only slightly when they halted.

"Will we travel alone?" she asked.

"Of course not," Joseph answered. "Once we reach the highway, we'll mingle with the strangers on their way to Jerusalem. We'll be safe in their company."

As far as Miriam knew, these 'strangers' that Joseph spoke of were Jews who lived outside of Israel. Their ancestors had been dispersed throughout the world from the time when Assyria overthrew the Northern Kingdom, as well as later during the Babylonian Captivity. They were not gentiles, for they kept the Torah after a fashion, but were considered little better than such by the people living in Israel. At the very least, these people - the strangers - were still Jews and would also be on their way to their various ancestral lands in Judah, if not Jerusalem proper, according to the census. It would be safer for them to travel in the company of others rather than to attempt to go it alone.

After an hour more of walking, they had come to the banks of the Jordan River. Now the river was quite high at this time of the year, and it looked quite difficult to cross; nevertheless, cross it they must. With his staff in hand, Joseph led the donkey into the water. Beneath the water, the ground below their feet slowly inclined downward, with the water growing deeper and deeper, until it came up to Joseph's waist. As for Miriam, she sat on the back of the donkey and the water only came up to her ankles. Were it not for the fact that, unlike her first journey south, she could see with her own eyes the great physical struggle Joseph underwent to lead her through the river, she might have enjoyed the crossing.

But Joseph did not complain; Miriam, who listened and watched more than she spoke, noticed this. Life in Nazareth was fraught with hardship and toil. Everyone complained at one point or another about the hard lives which they lived: even she would wince and sigh in her heart when Joshua's little feet jabbed painfully into her ribs, or when moving about became an arduous chore. She wished to know why he was so long-suffering, but at the present said nothing; she merely thanked _HaShem_ that such a strong, diligent, and long-suffering man had been brought into her life. It would not be the first time she would say this prayer.

At last, by and by, they made it to the other side of the river. Here Joseph paused to take wind; he had been leading the animal laden with two passengers against the current of the river and he was weary.

"Joseph," Miriam spoke up. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, my love," Joseph panted. "I just need to catch my breath...then we'll be on our way."

"Please don't exhaust yourself," she said.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "This is the way it is, and there is no other way. I would not suffer you to walk all the way to Jerusalem in your condition."

"But why is there no other way?" Miriam asked.

"There is only one way south," Joseph replied. "And it is this way, that goes across the Jordan River here and farther south near Jericho. The straight way leads through Samaria, which is accursed: therefore, we go this way." He gestured back toward the river with his hand.

Of old, Samaria had been the capital of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, and the center of the idolatry that had gripped the north lands. When the Babylonian Captivity began, the Samaritans had been permitted to remain in their land; and when it ended, they were not allowed to partake in the rebuilding of Jerusalem. So it had been for nearly four hundred years.

* * *

They left the banks of the river Jordan and continued on their way. At last they saw the dust from the Roman road in the distance and could hear the traffic of people on their own journeys. Joseph led the animal onto the road and they joined the mass of people on their way southward. While they joined the throng of people on their way, they found a small group of strangers traveling from Anatolia to Jerusalem. They welcomed them into their party, as they were also going southward for the census. They spoke Hebrew, after a fashion, and Joseph and Miriam were courteous enough to them; in return, the Anatolian strangers invited them to travel with them to the Holy City.

At the end of the day, the company made camp a little way off from the road but within sight of it. The Anatolians were more than willing to share with Miriam and Joseph what food they had, which they accepted without the customary thrice refusing it: it had been a long, hot day, the journey was exhausting and rigorous, and they were both weary and hungry. They ate sparingly, though Miriam clandestinely added a few olives to her meal as well. Overhead, the sun sank down behind the hills and trees on the other side of the Jordan. The small group prepared to sleep: the Anatolians let Miriam sleep in the tent with the other women, while Joseph and two men of the strangers stayed up to watch through the night.

But Miriam had yet a few words to share with Joseph. While she was making her bed with the women, she saw Joseph standing guard by the little tent.

"Joseph," she called out to him. Quickly he turned back around to her, a look of concern in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" Joseph asked.

"No, all is well," Miriam replied. "I wanted to ask you about earlier today."

"What about it?" Joseph asked.

"When we crossed the river," Miriam began. "I noticed that you were hard-pressed to lead the beast and I to this side. Yet you made no word of complaint throughout the ordeal."

"There was no need," Joseph replied. "My namesake never complained, and we h went through much worse than leading a woman with child and an ass through a raging river."

"But what if we became too much for you?" Miriam asked. "Surely you have already sacrificed much for me on account of this child: why should you suffer yourself to come to harm from pride?"

"It is not pride, but duty," Joseph returned. "He that grumbles increases his burden, as my father would often say to me and my brothers when we were young." He chuckled, remembering years long gone. "Besides, _HaShem_ knows my strengths and weaknesses, whether I say them or not: and what I lack, he will supply."

Miriam smiled, then bade him good night. Now began for Miriam the arduous and frustrating task of trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. She tried to lay on her left side, then on her right side, and then on her back: but no matter which way she turned, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. At last, the weariness of the day overcame her and she fell asleep on her left side, looking towards the entrance of the tent, where Joseph had been keeping watch.

* * *

About midnight, Miriam suddenly opened her eyes. Over the sleeping forms of the Anatolian women who slept in the tent with her, there was a light shining faintly on the other side of the tent's door: the shadowy silhouette of a man stood before the tent, illuminated by the light. Miriam said nothing, frozen in place with fear as she was. Even were she not heavy with child, escape was not an option. Suddenly there was a great rushing wind that struck the tent and sent the walls and door flapping furiously in it. The cold night air fell upon all within the tent and they awoke, crying out in fear: outside, the donkey brayed in fright and the light flickered out. The sounds of men shouting outside could be heard, as they fought to regain control of their tents and their animals. Immediately Joseph appeared at the door of the women's tent, pulling back the flap. His appearance made them yelp and exclaim in alarm: Miriam, who was already awake, breathed a sigh of relief when she heard his voice.

"Miriam!"

"Joseph!" she called out.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I am fine," she nodded. "What happened?"

"I know not," Joseph returned. "A strong wind from the desert struck the camp. It must have been a great wind, all the animals were stricken with fear."

Miriam noticed that Joseph hadn't mentioned the light or the man that appeared before the tent door. Nonetheless, she could hear the tone of fear in his voice; even though he had smiled assuredly at her and told her that they would remain at watch. Something more had happened that night; more than a strong wind from off the desert. It was in this knowledge that she remained awake for several hours more, shifting uncomfortably this way and that, as she tried to sleep again. Moreover, she felt painful jabs into her stomach and back from the baby, who seemed to have been roused by the incident.

Therefore, after a period of fruitless struggle and many furtive kicks, Miriam sat up; with one hand she propped up herself, and with the other she caressed her swollen abdomen and whispered to the child within her body.

"Shh, it's okay," she whispered. "There's nothing out there that can harm You."

"I would not say that if I were you," one of the women said to her: Deborah was her name and she was the wife of the chief Anatolian stranger and the oldest of them.

"Why not?" Miriam asked. "I only say this to soothe Him from this excitement."

"Say rather that _HaShem_ our God is watching over the babe in your womb," Deborah replied. "For only His hand can protect us from the evil one."

Miriam gasped. Even as the God of Abraham had a name that was never spoken, the accuser of the Children of Israel had no name other than the enemy.

"Why would the enemy bother with us?" Miriam asked. "We're only women, and poor at that."

"Ah, but we are Jews," Deborah said in reply: using the word common in the Greek-speaking world for the people of Israel, regardless of whether they were of Judah or not. "And it is our duty to worship _HaShem_ at His holy Temple, and to seek the peace of those who rule over us...which means going to Jerusalem for the census. Surely the enemy knows this and brings hazards to make us turn back, and therefore accuse us of forgetting _HaShem_."

"How do you know these things?" another Anatolian woman, name of Sarah, who was only ten years older than Miriam, asked.

"My father, peace be upon him, was learned in the proper instruction of Torah," Deborah stated. "I learned much from his knee as well as from my own mother's. He told of how the enemy tried to dissuade our father Abraham from offering his son at the command of _HaShem_ ; when Abraham proved resolute in his faith, the enemy attacked Sarah and broke her heart with such fear for the life of her beloved son that she died. Therefore, we are not safe from the enemy, though we are but women."

"Your words fill me with worry, Deborah," Sarah said: it may have had something to do with the fact that she spoke of the death of her namesake.

"She only says it for our instruction," Miriam spoke up, taking Deborah's side in this matter.

"Be that as it may," said Sarah. "I say that it was only the desert wind. As _HaShem_ lives, I thought Antioch was cold!"

"Bite your tongue!" Deborah retorted. "Do not take _HaShem_ in vain! Surely you'll bring the enemy upon us with your words!" She turned to Miriam, a look of concern in her eyes. "Mark my words, child, it was no ordinary wind that struck the tent. Pray _HaShem_ guard us through the night."

Miriam turned herself over onto her left side, with her hand still cradling her stomach, and tried to sleep again. The words of Deborah still rang in her ears, bringing fear upon her. The journey would be long and arduous, their steps dogged by heat and brigands during the day, and cold and wild animals during the night; and things were especially uncomfortable for her, it being her ninth month: she needed no more adversaries. The shadowy shape of a man, against the wall of the tent, brought her even greater fear. There had been something out there, she felt, at that very moment: something that was not friendly to them. An evil spirit? A son of Belial; a wicked man?

Yet she also remembered the light that had appeared as well. What could that be? It was said that the angels of _HaShem_ could appear as fiery apparitions, or take on the shape of men, as Gabriel had.

" _HaShem_ , creator of Heaven and Earth," Miriam prayed. "Heed the prayer of Your handmaiden, and incline Your ear to the petition of the daughter of Joachim. I have done as You asked of me: for eight months I have faced scorn, ridicule, and the fear of my life for submitting to Your will, to be the mother of the Anointed One. Now, even as I go to fulfill the will of Caesar, our steps are haunted by the evil one. Guard and protect us with all of Your might, _HaShem_ : You, who are the shield of the house of Israel, grant us your protection as we go forward. Amen."

* * *

 **(AN: So much in this chapter, being the longest one yet!)**

 **(This chapter was by and large inspired by the people from my church. One rather godly lady in particular was an inspiration for Miriam's craving for olives; and the way her daughter would call "mama" for her inspired the "little bird" that Hannah calls her daughter. Also the olives that Miriam keeps eating are part of her "cravings", which were also inspired by said friend of mine.)  
**

 **(I did some math and I've worked it out that, if I publish one chapter each week and two on the week of the 23rd of December, this entire story may be completed before Christmas.)**


	8. A Journey South II

**(AN: And here is the second half of the previous chapter.)**

 **(I can't remember the name, because it was so long ago, but I distinctly recall reading a Max Lucado book about the Nativity where the forces of evil tried to stop the birth of Christ and the holy angels opposed them. So that little incident from last chapter was inspired by such.)**

* * *

 **A Journey South II**

Miriam could not recall when sleep finally overtook her by the time she woke again. Sleeping on a rug in a tent in the middle of the desert wasn't any better than sleeping on a rug on the floor of her home. Once they were awake, they went about preparing a light meal for the beginning of the journey for the men and themselves, to keep them on their feet. The Anatolians had some store of bread, goat cheese, and dried meat, which they offered to Miriam and Joseph. They accepted these, though Miriam complimented them with some of her olives: to her chagrin, her supply was running low. She made a note to remind Joseph to buy some as soon as they could.

So the second day of their journey dawned upon the little company. Once they had all eaten - men, women and children - they made ready to depart. Joseph and Miriam helped the Anatolians pack up their tents and their things, despite their pleas to the contrary (a guest was hardly expected to do the work of the host). When this was done, they betook themselves once again to the road. This would lead them far south, towards the fortress of Herod the Great at Masada. But their path would not take them so far south, but would cross the Jordan again near Jericho. The leader of the Anatolians, Deborah's husband Aram, told Joseph that the path from Jericho to Jerusalem would be the hardest part of their journey.

Slowly, by and by, they made their way southward, following the road. The land around them became more and more arid with each mile they went. As the sun climbed high to noon, the air became hot and dry and oppressive upon the travelers. The dust that was picked up by their steps sent up a gust of sandy wind that choked anyone who wasn't at the very head of the company. Though the women had their hoods and their veils to protect them, the dust hit them in the eyes and, otherwise, did its best to get everywhere else. Water they had, but they dared not use it overmuch: both to preserve what they had, and to keep it safely away from the sand. It was not possible but that some sand would get into their water-skins, so they did their best to keep their water out of the way and protected accordingly.

In this plight they spent many a long and arduous hour in their way. As the day wore on in this barren land, they began to make their way steadily westward, towards the river. They had made good time, but the night was on its way and they could not cross the river until later the next day. As the evening drew nigh, they set their tents up here on the eastern shores of the Jordan River. It was less arid over here and they would be spared the dust of the main road. Of course, the cool of the river-side would likely have other dangers as well. Lions lived in the desert in these parts, and worse still, a serpent could slip beneath the walls of a tent.

Miriam slept that night without a second thought. In the morning, they ate once again and went on their way: the third day of their journey had begun. While they were yet going, with Joseph leading the donkey upon which Miriam rode, he spoke to her.

"Are you getting on with the strangers?" Joseph asked.

"Yes, my love," Miriam nodded. "They have been very hospitable." Her countenance fell. "They have shared food and drink and their own tents with us on the journey southward. I am troubled only because I know that no one in Nazareth would have done the same for them, though we are of the House of Israel."

"No one?" Joseph asked. She shook her head. "Well, in that case, we should be willing to extend the hand of hospitality to those who come our way in the future."

"That is well," Miriam smiled. "And it would please _HaShem_."

"I think He is pleased with us already," Joseph commented. Miriam couldn't help but smile at her betrothed's sudden change of demeanor. "Why do you smile, Miriam?"

"You are so serious some times," Miriam noted. "I know that you have a great care for all three of us, yet your face is always set like stone. Even through our journey, I've noticed you being so solemn every step of the way. Why is it that you now have hope that _HaShem_ is pleased with us?"

"Something happened last night," Joseph stated. "I was keeping watch, and I heard the sound of a lion in the bushes. It did not roar loudly, but I could hear the beast growling."

"Why did you not wake us?" Miriam asked.

"I was about to," Joseph said. "But..." He hesitated. "...ah, I'm a man of deeds, my love. Dreams and visions are for rabbis, not for someone like me."

"What did you see?" Miriam asked.

"The moon shone that night," Joseph continued. "And in its light I saw the lion crouched, as though it would attack. But just then I saw one approach who stood before the lion and commanded it to stop. Well, as soon as the strange man spoke, the lion turned and fled away as though it had been stricken." He turned back to Miriam. "What do you make of this?"

Miriam sighed. "What I think, I pray that I may keep it secret. I will trust your judgment in this matter, my lord."

Joseph smiled, which caused Miriam to laugh in happiness at the sight. At the sound of her laughter, the child within Miriam began to squirm about and she gently patted the top of her stomach.

"Ah, Miriam, you fill my heart with gladness," he said. "As for what I saw, I can only guess that it was an angel. This shows that _HaShem_ is pleased with us, for He sends His angels to protect us."

"As Moses said," Deborah called out from just behind them. Miriam looked back, nodded at Deborah, then turned back to Joseph.

"How long will we travel on this road?" she asked.

"Some miles yet," Joseph stated. "We'll cross the river, then make our way down the hardest part of our journey yet."

"And what part is that?" Miriam asked.

"The road through the Pharan," Joseph replied.

Miriam's eyes widened with surprise. Her family had gone through this path every year on their way to Jerusalem for the Passover and other Temple celebrations. She herself had gone through nine months ago on her way to En-Karim. Yet in both of those times, she had worried very little. Joachim was strong and she had brothers and uncles and cousins who went with her family, and therefore she felt safe those times. When she came south with Merab, she had ridden in his wagon and therefore had missed most of the dangers of the southward journey. Now she would be going that way with only Joseph and a group of strangers.

* * *

The sun was rising high into the sky, burning away the cool of the morning, when they arrived at the ford of the Jordan River. However, as they approached the banks, they noticed that their crossing wouldn't be so easy. The river was much deeper here than when they had crossed it in the north; likely from storms on the Lake of Galilee while they were entangled in the journey through Peraea. Nonetheless, they had to make the cross in order to come to Jericho, the Nahal Pharan, and eventually Jerusalem and Bethlehem.

Joseph looked back at the Anatolians, who were preparing themselves for the crossing: the women got off their wagon, so that the men could drag it through the waters easier. He turned to Miriam, but decided against doing the same with her; he would rather suffer himself the additional struggle than suffer her to wade through the river in her condition. Therefore he breathed deeply, took his staff in one hand and the reins of the animal in the other, and entered the river. It ended up being some two cubits deep, coming up to his waist in the shallowest places; for Miriam, the water came up a little above her ankles, soaking the hem of her robes. The flowing currents of the rushing river made the journey arduous, and Joseph had to make slow, firm steps onto the pebbly, slippery river-bed to keep from being swept downstream.

About half-way through the river, a sound rose up over the rushing of the water that made Joseph's heart drop to his feet. From just behind him, he could hear Miriam groaning as if in great pain. Joseph panicked almost immediately and stopped in the middle of the river, turning around to look at his betrothed; she was hunched over, with one hand clutching the side of her stomach.

"What is it?" Joseph asked, his voice full of fear and urgency.

But Miriam did not respond. Immediately Joseph feared the worst and walked over to the side of the animal, as if he would take her off the donkey's back and carry her back across the river. Such a decision was foolhardy at the least: they had already come more than half-way and with Miriam in his arms, Joseph would perchance slip and fall into the river.

Behind them the Anatolians were already making their way into the river when one of the women, Deborah, noticed they had stopped.

"Why are you stopping?" she called out.

"My betrothed!" Joseph cried out. "I fear it is her time to be delivered!"

"No, no, Joseph," Miriam muttered. "I'm fine." He looked up at her with a bewildered look in his eyes.

"What? Are you sure?"

Miriam nodded. "The pain is gone."

Meanwhile, he had left the Anatolians on a limb after his sudden outburst. Despite his assurances that all was well, Deborah insisted that they cross to the other side and wait for them. Joseph asked over and over if Miriam was able to make the crossing and she assured him that she was, asking only that they go a little slower for her sake. By and by they arrived on the western side of the Jordan River. Behind them came the Anatolian strangers, who moved faster at the insistence of Deborah and Sarah. When they too gained the farther shore, Deborah hastened to see to Miriam, despite the young woman's protests that all was well.

"It was nothing, I assure you," said Miriam. "I felt only a little pain, but it is gone now."

"Such pains are to be expected when your time is near," Deborah said after a length assurance that nothing was wrong.

Even though there was no urgency, both Joseph and Miriam looked at each other with concern. They still had the Pharan and the Holy City before them, as well as a relatively short walk through the hill country south to Bethlehem. Already it felt as though they were making poor time on their journey, and now it seemed that they would have to be moving even slower. After a sea of assurances that there was nothing wrong with Miriam - more than the three refusals of a gift that were customary - Deborah insisted that they travel together as far as Jerusalem and that Miriam be allowed to ride in their wagon.

They arrived at Jericho shortly before noon. They did not stay in the town for very long, only to purchase any additional food they may need. Miriam begged Joseph for some more olives - as she had by now eaten them all - which he was willing to do for her. The reason they did not stay overlong in Jericho was because the Pharan was still before them, and both Joseph and the Anatolian men were determined to reach Jerusalem by evening and not be benighted in the mountains.

* * *

No sooner had they left Jericho but they entered the dangerous valley, the Nahal Pharan. The road that would lead them to Jerusalem - and then on to Bethlehem - was narrow and snaked along the edge of the mountain-side. Wind and the many travelers going to and fro on this path had made it especially treacherous the farther away from the cliff one ventured. But loose stone was the least of their worries. As the road held fast to the winding, twisting side of the cliff, one could scarce see the road ahead of them; before them it would appear that the road reached the edge of the cliff and came to an abrupt dead end, and only until coming to the brink could they see that it wound sharply around the side of the mountain and continued on its way. These sharp turns, where those coming could not see the path beyond the bend, were the favorite lurking places of brigands; where they could lie in wait and prey upon unsuspecting travelers in these narrow straits.

It was fear of assaults, more than anything, that gripped the small party as they went their way. Joseph and Aram took the head of the company, while Aram's five sons and his brother-in-law Jabesh guarded the rear. They moved forward at what felt like a snail's pace: for at every sharp turn, the ladies climbed off of the wagon and waited at the rear while Joseph, Jabesh, and two of Aram's sons guided the wagon around the sharp corner. Miriam certainly didn't like all the mounting and dismounting that she had to undergo, especially in her current condition. Even with the help of Deborah and Sarah, Miriam was painfully aware that every time they dismounted, the weight of the child bore heavily down upon her lower extremities, causing her great discomfort.

"I pity you, child," Deborah said. "To make this journey in your condition. If we could cross the Pharan without endangering the wagon, we would let you ride it still."

Miriam winced and nodded in understanding.

They met with no serious assaults along the way, though the canyons echoed with the cries of unfortunate ones before them who did. Joseph, Aram, Jabesh, and the four young men gripped their staves tightly in their hands, watching the cliffs to their left for any assault. So the hours passed, full of fear and trepidation. The men of their group kept their eyes on the road before them, with only a few glances over their shoulders behind them. Directly ahead, the road curved around the corner of an out-flung arm of the mountainside; from where they stood, it looked as though it was the end of the road and nothing more beyond. But they had gone around enough such sharp bends to know that this was not the case. Certainly enough, as they approached the bend, they saw that it turned sharply around and continued on the other side of the turn.

Suddenly, as the ladies were climbing off the wagon as it came to the brink of the sharp turn, there was a sound of sliding rocks. At the back of the group, Deborah let out a cry of fear and held her arms out over Sarah and Miriam, and Jabesh took up his staff in his hand. While at the front, Joseph and Aram both seized their staves. On either side of the company, two pairs of men each armed with a small knife in each hand had slid down from the side of the mountain and were now standing in the road before them.

"Give us your money!" one of the men demanded.

"We have nothing for you, villain!" Aram returned. "Now go, or as _HaShem_ lives, you will get more than you bargained for, but not a single shekel!"

One of the men lunged at the wagon, knife in hand. Aram smote him on the left side of his skull with his staff, sending him crashing onto the ground on this side of the cliff. At the rear one of the men made a move, but Jabesh swept him off his feet with a swing of his staff; while at the front, Joseph sent a swift strike to the third thief's stomach, doubling him over from the blow. The fourth one trembled, but stood his ground; until Jabesh gave him a blow on the head with his staff. By now, these rogues realized that their prey were not as easy prey as they had believed and so turned and fled before they suffered any other blows.

"Is everyone alright?" Aram called back to his family. One by one they responded in affirmation. Joseph did not call out but crept along the side of the precipice to where Miriam stood behind Deborah.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her.

"No, Joseph," she returned, shaking her head. "I'm fine."

"Pray that this will be the only assaults we suffer this day," Deborah said to the other women.

Perhaps there was some kind of invisible assistance the rest of that day, for no other rogues were bold enough to attack them. They never saw sight or sound of those four desperate brigands that dared to take them by surprise. Nevertheless, every one of them were filled with suspense and fear: if they had been attacked once, they might be attacked again. The men went forward with their staves in hand, ready to defend the wagon if they had to. Once they rounded the corner, the women climbed back into the wagon and prayed that they be not attacked again. Miriam prayed, but for herself she felt a strange sense of confidence. She looked down at her stomach, cradling it with one hand underneath, and whispered:

"You will be safe, my child," she said. "Though he is not Your father, Joseph will protect You as though You were his own."

Many more hot, languid hours passed under the blistering sun in the treacherous canyons of the Pharan. By and by the sun sank on its way towards the Great Sea; the western sea that the Romans had called the Sea Between the Land. The shadows grew longer and it seemed that they might very well be benighted in the Pharan. Suddenly their ears caught wind of another sound, other than the howling of wind and the echo of their footfalls: it sounded like joyful sounds. All at once, the faces of Joseph, Aram, and Jabesh lightened up, and the women along with them. The young men asked their father what was the cause of their joy.

"Don't you hear the singing?" Aram returned to his sons. "They are singing songs of praise: that can only mean one thing; we are nearing the Holy City!"

The noise of song and revelry now grew louder, becoming a melodious hum echoing through the rocks of the canyon. Then the closer they went, the more distinct the hum became. Now they were coming so near that the hum became faint, vague words to a mighty melody. One by one they began to pick it up, singing in as best a voice as they could the praises of coming to the Holy City, the City of David. As they made their way around toward the southeastern side of the Mount of Olives, they at last caught a visible glimpse of the white walls of the Holy City of Jerusalem. They were now all belting out in song as they made their way forward.

It was getting on to evening as they rounded the Mount of Olives and made their way toward the Shushan Gate. At Gethsemane they took a left and made their way up to the Eastern Gate into the city. This was much to Miriam's delight and joy: for, according to what her mother Hannah had told her, it was at the Shushan Gate where she revealed to Joachim that she was with child (who of course was she herself). More than this, for she remembered from her journey to En-Karim Merab saying something about how they were not going to linger near the northern side of the City, for crucifixions were often held there, so close to the Roman fortress of Antonia. But there was another reason for entering Jerusalem through the Shushan Gate.

This gate gave access to the Temple.

* * *

The Temple standing in Jerusalem was the second temple built within the city of Jerusalem. The first Temple was Solomon's Temple: a truly magnificent wonder of gold and cedar, whose construction and dedication were the stuff of legend: it was said that miracles accompanied the dedication of Solomon's Temple, from groves of fruit trees that fed the priests sprouting up around the premises to the pillar of cloud, the outward sign of _HaShem_ 's presence, resting upon the Temple and filling it with His glory. But the glory of Solomon was gone, and the Great Temple had been destroyed in the days of the Babylonian Captivity.

Almost four hundred and sixty years ago, the decree had been set forth to restore and rebuild Jerusalem and the Temple itself. This was the Temple of Zerubbabel; many were disappointed that it did not live up to the glory of the Great Temple, and for this reason among others - as well as the fact that the Ark of the Covenant had disappeared since the time of the Babylonian Captivity and was not among the treasures returned - the elders conceded that the Ineffable Name could not be spoken or written by the Children of Israel. It was this Temple that stood on the very spot on Mount Moriah where the ruin of Solomon's Temple lay, renovated by Herod the Great, that the group of pilgrims now approached.

As they passed through the Shushan Gate, the sounds of the evening prayers could be heard echoing from the walls of the Temple: bald-headed and gray-bearded elders singing praises to the God of their fathers, the God of the Ineffable Name, quoting the words of David the King from time immemorial. The hairs on the backs of the necks of the travelers rose up as they passed around Solomon's Porch. To hear the songs of _HaShem_ being sung in the place where Solomon's Temple once stood filled them with great awe.

But they did not linger at the Temple; not now. Joseph and Miriam had yet the journey from here to Bethlehem ahead of them and the Anatolians had their own lodgings to spend the night in. Aram and Deborah had told them, throughout their journey together, that they would be staying with some relatives at a large house in the Tyropoeon Valley; the valley that separated Moriah and Zion to the southwest and which ran straight through the city. As it was evening, they invited the two Nazarenes to stay with them that evening before they set out on the final leg of their journey. Joseph offered to pay for himself, Miriam, and for a place on the ground floor for the donkey, but Aram and Jabesh wouldn't allow it; three times Joseph offered them money and, as was the custom, three times did the Anatolian men reject his offer. It was just as well, for they had precious little money and none to spare.

After they ate the evening meal and said the evening shema, they betook themselves to their beds. The men slept in one room while the women slept in another; each of them lying on a mat placed on the floor - sometimes two or more to a mat for warmth - wrapped in a blanket or a cloak, with a pillow of coarse cloth filled with straw for their heads. For the first time in three days, they were under a roof for the night. Though the people of Israel, as a rule, had no qualms about sleeping in tents, it was good to spend the night in a place where the elements and wild animals were separated from them by four walls, a stone staircase, and a wooden door.

Joseph slept for the first time in a long while in peace. The Holy City was a city nonetheless, and those who had less regard to God and His Torah roamed the streets at night. But, like the elements and the animals, they were kept out by the doors. Also the Anatolians had been quite hospitable and he didn't feel compelled to worry about Miriam so much in their presence. His last thoughts before falling asleep were of Bezaleel the master craftsman: he wondered if he had known, while his hands carved the shittim wood that would be used for the Ark of the Covenant, that the work of his hands would be used for so great a purpose as the carrying of the Torah and the resting place of the Glory of _HaShem_.

As for Miriam, she slept very little that night, and on a mat by herself. She shifted and squirmed about much in her sleep, trying to find a position that was comfortable for her: or at least as close to comfortable as could be found in these latter days of her carriage. Moreover, the child within her was anything but restful this night, squirming about in her womb despite there not being much room left to move; a fact she was painfully aware of every moment of the night. Such movements had been endearing at first, but now they were becoming a nuisance, especially when they deprived her of sleep. She did not curse the child or complain, in spite of her discomfort; instead she bit her lip, shut her eyes, and prayed for the time of her delivery to come soon.

Morning came to the Tyropoeon Valley in Jerusalem. The party rose and said the morning shema, then betook themselves to a meal prepared by the wife of the keeper of the house. They all ate heartily and talked further during breakfast about this and that and the goings on in their own towns: Miriam made sure to stow a few olives for later. Once they had finished eating, any large leftovers were wrapped in cloth and given to Joseph and Miriam, while the smaller portions were thrown to the dogs. Joseph then went downstairs to feed the donkey and prepare to set forth.

When the moment came for them to be off, the Anatolians were there to see them off: Aram, Jabesh, Deborah, Sarah, and the children of their company. Joseph was grateful that he had the assistance of Aram in lifting Miriam back onto the donkey's back.

"Thank you, Aram," Joseph said. "HaShem bless you for all that you have done for us."

"And equal blessings upon you and your woman," Aram replied. "And _mazel tov_ on the soon birth of your child. These days of journey have been good, thanks to your company. Surely you and your woman put to lie the old proverb."

"What proverb is that?" Joseph asked.

"'Can any good thing come from Nazareth,'" quoth Aram.

Joseph's face winced into a sour expression and he made as though he would retort; but Miriam placed her hand on his shoulder and dissuaded him.

Once more Joseph took the reins of the donkey and led it out into the streets, with Miriam seated upon the beast's back. As they left, the Anatolians waved goodbye at them with many a shalom. Miriam smiled and waved back to them and said shalom back; Joseph nodded and said a solemn shalom and that was sufficient.

From here they would find a street that would take them to the Essene Gate, the southwestern gate of the city. From there they would skirt along the northwestern edge of the GeiBen-Hinnom until they met the highway that would lead them by and by to their destination; the House of Bread, the city of David.

* * *

 **(AN: By this time initially, I was fully frustrated with writing and kind of breezed through the Nahal Pharan [or, by its Arabic name, the Wadi Qelt], despite it being so dangerous: then I went back and detailed what I had initially mentioned only briefly. As you can see, at 11,000 words, these two chapters as one chapter would have been a chore indeed! But I am very grateful that I was able to soldier on through them.)**

 **(I don't know if any of you ever felt this way, or if I was just naive and assumed the best of the Early Church, but the people at my church accused the Disciples of prejudice against the "strangers" among the Christians [that is to say, the Jewish converts who were not native to Israel]. I think they just like tearing down the male heroes of the Bible in the worst possible ways [they made such a vehement attack on poor Abraham that I was glad when I read of his many noble exploits in _Legends of the Jews_ and the Book of Jasher]. As a side effect of their influence, I wrote in that both the Anatolian Jews and Joseph and Miriam had their own private reservations about each other. Don't worry, though, it works out for the better for dear Miriam in the next chapter: just wait before flaming me!)**

 **(See the next chapter for the definition of the GeiBen Hinnom.)**


	9. Bethlehem

**(AN: So at last we've made it through the accursed journey and we're going to be in Bethlehem by the end of this chapter! Yay!)**

 **(That's the good news. Now let's begin with this chapter that's sure to be interesting)**

* * *

 **Bethlehem**

"Can you believe what he said?" Joseph told Miriam as they entered into the busy streets of Jerusalem, far and away from the upper room where they had left the Anatolians. "'Can anything good come out of Nazareth.' The nerve of him!"

"Do they really say that?" Miriam asked.

"Yes!" Joseph replied.

"Did we not think the same about them, being strangers?" Miriam asked.

"That was different," Joseph stated. "We are born and raised here in Israel, the Holy Land. They are strangers from outside of Israel. How dare they say such things about us!"

Miriam did not quite agree with him. She saw that he was angry at Aram for saying what both of them had been guilty of thinking in their hearts. But she did not speak of it openly. That was part of how she had carried herself into adulthood, as something her mother had told her many years ago, when she was a young girl. She had had fantastic dreams of serving _HaShem_ in the Temple in Jerusalem, of dedicating herself to the service of the God of her fathers. Like any good mother in those days, Hannah brought the child back down to earth in the most loving way she knew.

"Those who sit in the Temple do not work or provide for themselves," Hannah had said. "And the women there are old women; they do not bear children that support them or work or do good deeds. I would rather you find a husband, marry, and bear children that will be a blessing to you, to your husband, to us all, and to _HaShem_."

"Young men go into the Temple to learn and serve _HaShem_ ," the young Miriam had said. "Why can I not do that?"

A look of sorrow passed onto her face. "My little bird, we are women. Because of the sin of Eve, we are not permitted to be equal to men in all the things they do." To this, Miriam had at first seemed discouraged; Hannah wrapped her arms around her and kissed her head. "But let me tell you a secret, Miriam: something my mother told me as her mother told her."

"What is that?" the little Miriam had asked.

"While we may never wield a sword or read from the Torah," Hannah said. "We women can move the minds and hearts of the men that do so."

"How?" young Miriam asked.

"Listen more than you talk, little bird," Hannah told her. "Men want their women silent; but when we are silent, we hear things that the men may forget for all of their talk. Important things, things that which the men cannot live without. And when you listen, think long and hard about what you have heard and seen: it may be that such a time will come when what you have seen and heard will be needed, and when that happens, what a woman has learned in silence may be more valuable than what seven men have spoken among themselves."

And so it had been for the rest of her childhood and young adult life. She remained quiet, thinking and listening more than speaking. It was because of this that she did not take part in the idle gossip of her peers, despite the temptation to do so. Rather hold her peace than tear down her neighbors with her words. Even now, she continued in this practice. While she remained silent now and allowed Joseph to believe that he had gainsaid her, in her heart she considered what had happened. She knew that both herself and Joseph had their own private prejudices against the strangers, and had suddenly realized that they had their own prejudices against Nazarenes: and these mutual prejudices had soured what could have been a fast friendship.

 _HaShem willing_ , she thought to herself. _I will be more accepting to those whom He brings in my path._

* * *

They made their way southward, through the crowded city streets upon the southeastern flanks of Mount Zion. The keeper of the house where they had lodged that night had told Joseph to look for the Roman aqueduct and follow it to the Essene Gate. Through the city streets they made their path, keeping careful watch over their surroundings. More than once a group of boys or a bold young man would try to take something from the donkey; Joseph kept them from taking anything of any great value (aside from the last of Miriam's olives, for which she was more than a little sad). Aside from these, they saw men on the streets preaching the words of the Prophets, those that spoke of the coming of the Messiah. Royal guards, the soldiers of King Herod - sometimes referred to as Herodians by the people - walked this way and that on the king's business. Here and there could also be seen the red cloaks of the Roman soldiers: some were from Chittim, the lands beyond the Great Sea, while others were auxiliaries, people pulled from the populace of the local provinces. Joseph did not look the Romans in the eyes, whether on horseback or on foot. In his heart, and the heart of every Jew in Judea, he could not fathom how any son of Israel would willingly join the power that kept them in bondage and oppression.

But for all misgivings about Romans, the people of Israel enjoyed their improvements. The roads had certainly been something they could get used to, for they made traveling much easier. And while the Pharisees would go on about how the righteous should avoid 'pleasures of the flesh' such as the amphitheater and the hippodrome, claiming that they would be allowed to enjoy these and others such pleasures denied in this life in the world to come, those who knew their history knew that Solomon had a grand hippodrome of his own; and while they would blush at the lewd, pagan comedies of the amphitheater, they enjoyed the Roman hippodrome within the walls of the city. Also the aqueducts provided water for most of the upper city and the western half of Tyropoeon Valley, even bringing fresh, clean water to the Temple itself for use in the purification rituals and for the brass laver. And now those same aqueducts provided direction for Joseph to guide them out of the city.

As they passed through the Essene Gate, they found before their eyes a grim and macabre sight which caused Joseph to avert his eyes and Miriam to draw her veil over her face. Their path wound down the side of the hill and a little ways more southwest to the road to Bethlehem; but directly before them yawned the GeiBen Hinnom, the valley of the sons of Hinnom. The valley held a dark, foreboding presence to the people of Israel. Of old it had been a place where the idolatrous and blasphemers - of high and low estate - had sacrificed their children to heathen gods. Though Josiah, the last righteous king of Judah, had the valley cleansed of idols and the remains of the children interred in an unknown location, the valley remained an accursed place. Today, it was a refuse dump, where things were burned up with fire; the smoke ascended like a great black pillar into the sky, and the stench thereof could be smelled all throughout the valley. The Pharisees taught that, deep beneath the earth, was a place of fire and torment reserved for the unrighteous, which they named after this valley. Even now, the mere mention of GeiBen Hinnom, or Gehenna as it was called in the Greek tongue, held with it portents of fire, damnation, destruction, and doom.

They walked on down the southwestern slope of Mount Zion, hoping that the wind did not shift and fill their nostrils with the noxious odors of hell. Neither Miriam nor Joseph said a word to each other until they had descended down from Mount Zion and the sandals of Joseph and the hooves of the donkey were upon the southward road. From here the journey was much more straightforward. Following the road, they would pass into the town of Bethlehem in only two hours time, provided no delays or incidents took place.

* * *

The country became more rocky and hilly the farther south they went. Soon the smoke and the stench of the Valley of the sons of Hinnom were nothing more than a bad dream. Round and round the road turned, this way and that way, until even Jerusalem was lost in the distance. Now they saw the rolling hills dotted with shepherds going about their business, keeping their flocks. Though sheep were considered especially precious, for they were used for the sacrifices at the Temple, those who tended them were held in as low esteem in the eyes of the common Israelite as a Samaritan, a leper, or even, perish the thought, a gentile. They kept to the road and said nothing to those they encountered in the hills.

By and by they saw a great stone structure toward which the road was taking them; this structure sat hard by the highway side on the way to Bethlehem. As they approached the domed structure, they saw others standing about the building, bowing, praying, or carving their names upon the stones. Suddenly Joseph pointed towards something beyond the structure, with a smile upon his face.

"There it is!" he exclaimed. "Bethlehem, the House of Bread. We've finally made it. Praise be to _HaShem_!"

"Yes," Miriam groaned. "Praise Him."

Joseph turned about and noticed Miriam bent over, clutching her stomach. "What's wrong, Miriam?"

"I am weary, Joseph," Miriam replied. "I feel like a cow, and all of this riding wears me out."

"Not to worry, my love," Joseph assured his betrothed. "I will find us a place to stay for the night. I have family living here in Bethlehem; they will take us in."

"That's good," Miriam sighed. "All this traveling does not agree with me in this condition." She then looked up at the stone structure they had arrived at. "What is this place?"

"This is the Tomb of Rachel," Joseph answered. "It is said that our father Jacob raised this structure on the spot where his favorite wife died in childbirth." He then turned back to Miriam. "That is, the Jacob of blessed memory, not my father who bears his name, as I bear the name of Jacob's favorite son Joseph."

Miriam smiled, but inside she was not feeling jovial and his attempt at a jest had fallen on deaf ears. Being reminded of Rachel, the matriarch and wife of Jacob, who was called Israel, brought fear to her heart. Rachel was beloved by Jacob and had died in childbirth; again into her mind came the fear that she would not live to see the Messiah she carried within her womb come to manhood and enter into His own.

Joseph brought the animal close to one of the four walls of the Tomb of Rachel, where he inclined his head and uttered a silent prayer. From where she sat atop the donkey's back, Miriam reached over, touched the side of the stone wall, closed her eyes, and prayed.

"God of our fathers," she whispered. "Your holy angel came to me nine months ago, greeting me as one favored by You. In obedience to Your wish, I became the bearer of the Messiah. I ask now that You show me a sign of Your favor: let me live to see the child grow to manhood and come into His own."

Having said their peace, Joseph led the donkey back onto the road and they made the last leg of their journey down the hill into the little town of Bethlehem.

* * *

The main road passed into a town not much bigger than Nazareth itself, filled with many houses made of stone and clay. The streets were hardly still, filled to bursting with people on their own business - for it was only a few hours before midday - as well as newcomers for the census. Into this throng Joseph and Miriam made their way, leading their animal toward a place on the eastern side of town. According to Joseph, his family owned a sizeable house in this location, built over the same ground where the house of Judah had lived since the time it was given to them by Joshua bar-Nun.

First, however, there was the matter of the census. All business was carried out at the gateways to the towns, and so the tax collectors had their booths by the stone arch that passed over the main entrance into the town. As they came to the town's gate, they saw a great throng of people lined up before them. Thankfully it was only Yom Revi'i and not a low sabbath, and there would be nothing else to delay them in doing their duty to Rome. Several very long, hot, and frustrating minutes passed as they stepped slowly, one after another, towards the gate of the town and the tax collector's booth.

At last, the two approached the wide arch of the entrance to Bethlehem. It was high enough that Miriam did not have to dismount or duck in order to pass through; a blessing in her condition to say the very least. As they came near the gate, they espied two soldiers in the red garb of the Romans standing on either side of the gate; both of them were armed and they shouted in Greek to the people as they came to the gate. If they were not here for the census, they would be allowed to go on their way; but if they were, they were ordered to get in line at the very end and come back in the long way. Despite this grave inconvenience, the presence of armed Roman guards meant that no incidents were to be taking place today. Behind the soldiers was the booth where the tax collector sat with his scroll, writing stylus, and bag of money. Joseph took one look at him and an incensed look passed over his face.

"What's wrong, Joseph?" Miriam asked.

"That man, the tax collector," Joseph whispered. "He's an Israelite!"

As if the thought of Jews joining the Roman military was bad enough, the tax collectors were worse. A soldier was not always present, while the tax collectors were at the entryway of every town and city. What truly added insult to injury was the fact that these tax collectors were not only stealing from their own people and fattening the coffers of Rome; they were more than likely lining their own pockets by overcharging the people.

Now it was their turn to appear before the tax collector. Joseph prayed that he wouldn't try to cheat them in any way. He didn't bring a lot of money with him on this journey, and every shekel was needed for the days to come.

"How many in your family?" the man asked. Joseph looked at the man a little oddly. Numbers weren't exactly something the people of Israel were very precise on. The tax collector looked up from his ledger. "I said, how many in your family? The exact number."

"Two," Joseph replied. "My w...betrothed and I."

The man reached underneath his booth and placed on the table two copper coins that were to be given as proof that they had paid the census. He then turned to Joseph: "Two shekels." Joseph reached into his purse, hidden beneath his travel clothes, and pulled out two shekels and placed them on the table. The tax collector took these, then pushed the tokens over to Joseph, who took these and placed them in the pouch. He then took the reins and led Miriam through the gates and into the bustling, overcrowded streets.

"Well, we're here now," Miriam said, as they passed through the streets of Bethlehem. "It looks very crowded for such a small town."

"They must all be here for the census," Joseph commented.

"Will we find somewhere to stay soon?" she asked.

"In time, yes," Joseph replied. "I'm sure you'll be wanting a place to rest from the journey."

She nodded with a gentle sigh as the baby kicked her side.

They carried on their way, Joseph leading the animal through the dusty streets of Bethlehem. They came to a sizeable han on the edge of town, similar to the one where Zechariah and Elisabeth lived in at En-Karim. There were several people lingering about the entrance to the courtyard of the han, some of them sitting on the ground, others leaning against the walls, and some standing about rather impatiently. Joseph brought the donkey to the door leading to the courtyard of the han, the crowds parting as they approached. Upon one of the posts of the door, like at Zechariah's dwelling, was a plaque with the shema Israel upon it. When they had arrived at the door, Joseph knocked on the door. From within the voice of a man, sounding rather flustered, shouted at them.

"Go away," the voice said. "The han is full up."

"But I'm family!" Joseph spoke, forgetting his manners for the moment: it had been a long journey and he was exhausted himself. Though he wasn't carrying a child within his body, he had walked every step of the way and his feet were sore, filthy, and bleeding. "I'm of the tribe of Judah..."

"So is everyone else knocking at my door," the man replied. "There's no room!"

But Joseph wasn't taking no for an answer. He knocked again and spoke in raised tones. "Benjamin bar-Matthan, open this door! You know who I am; it is Joseph, the son of your brother Jacob. We are family!"

Suddenly there was the sound of a latch being opened and from the porthole in the door there appeared a grizzled face with bristling gray brows and intense, brown eyes.

"Joseph?" Benjamin asked. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" At this the porthole closed and shortly thereafter, the door opened and a stout man with curled gray hair and a short, bushy, gray beard came out of the house: in one hand he bore a stout staff with which he kept back those who approached the door of the han.

"It hasn't been so long that you don't remember when your brother sent me to you for learning," Joseph stated.

"Ah, Joseph!" Benjamin exclaimed. "You are the image of my dear brother Jacob, _HaShem_ give him rest." He turned to the animal behind him. "And I see that you bring a beautiful young woman with you. Your wife?"

"Betrothed," Joseph clarified. Benjamin took another look at Miriam; though she was nearly bent over from travel, her stomach was very noticeable. Even as Joseph was about to speak again, Benjamin interjected.

"I see you've been busy in Nazareth," he added with a knowing chuckle. "Couldn't wait to sample the goods, I see."

"That's not important right now," Joseph retorted. "Look, we need a place to stay for the census."

"Census, bah!" Benjamin snorted. "The curse of _HaShem_ upon the Romans and their damned census!"

"Don't say such things, uncle!" Joseph added. "It is not wise or proper to speak the Name so lightly."

"This census will be the death of me!" Benjamin complained. "I've had people from all over Israel come to my house to stay for the census! Even some from outside as well! Oh, why couldn't _HaShem_ have thought about _me_ when He blessed our father Abraham with seed as vast as the dust of the earth?!"

"You've changed, uncle," Joseph commented. "You're not as pious as you once were; and you've forgotten to offer hospitality to family."

"Don't speak to me that way, boy," Benjamin retorted. "You bring this woman from Nazareth to my house, heavy with child and not even your wife, and you talk about piety?"

"We're here for the census!" Joseph repeated.

"Do you think I'm blind?" Benjamin asked. "I know why you're here: you're running from the scandal of this girl's family and the people of Nazareth. You think you can come here, spend a few months in Bethlehem, then return to Nazareth with a child and pretend that everything is well?"

"We've traveled for four days, uncle!" Joseph continued. "It has been a long and exhausting road. My betrothed is near to her time; look at her! If you won't do this for me, do it for her sake!"

Benjamin grumbled, lowering his head and shaking his shaggy beard.

"Please!" Joseph begged.

"Even if I could," Benjamin interjected, lifting up his head and gesturing emphatically with his hands. "There is no room in the han!"

"There must be something you can do for us, uncle," Joseph pleaded. "Anything!"

At that moment, Miriam groaned from where she sat upon the donkey. Joseph walked over to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Miriam nodded. "Let me down off this beast. I am weary from the journey and cannot endure another moment on its back." Joseph immediately helped her slide down off the donkey's back. He then turned back to uncle Benjamin.

"Why are you looking at me?" Benjamin asked. "I told you, there is no room!"

"Surely you must have something," Joseph replied. "It doesn't have to be permanent: I'll find some work and rent a house for us in due time. Just let her rest from the journey."

Benjamin grumbled. "Well, if it's only going to be temporary, then I suppose the courtyard would suffice. You'll have to share it with all the animals."

"That will do," Joseph said, a hint of relief in his voice. "A thousand blessings upon you, good uncle."

"Don't bless me!" Benjamin retorted. "Surely _HaShem_ will disregard me for this disgrace. I don't approve of any of this."

Taking up his staff again, Benjamin barred the entrance of the han while Miriam and Joseph entered the han. Miriam walked in first, and she bowed and thanked Benjamin, who said nothing to either of them. Joseph brought up the rear, with the reins of the donkey in his hands. No sooner had they passed into the courtyard of the han but they saw that practically every span of the courtyard was filled with animals: goats, another donkey or two, and even a large cow. The smell of animal feces was also strong in the air of the courtyard. Behind them, Benjamin shut fast the door of the han, despite the protests of those on the other side of the walls.

"Now then," Benjamin said. "You have a place for your betrothed to stay. Joseph, be on about your business in Bethlehem."

"You won't kick my betrothed out on the streets, will you?" Joseph asked.

"No, no," Benjamin dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Rebekah would never let me hear the end of it."

Joseph led Miriam and the donkey to a place by the northern wall of the courtyard. Removing the rug from the donkey's back, he cleared a bit of the ground before spreading it out and letting Miriam rest upon it while the donkey was tied to a post nearby. Joseph was at once ushered back out into the streets by Benjamin, who seemed quite upset at the turn of events. Miriam, meanwhile, breathed a sigh of relief. Their journey had come to an end.

* * *

 **(AN: A friend of mine [the same one whose daughter was the inspiration for the "little bird" thing] said that Joseph's relatives intentionally refused hospitality to him and Miriam when they arrived in Bethlehem. I wasn't entirely sure of that, but I put both reasons in my story. Also their names [Benjamin and Rebekah] are from the three-part epic "Back to Bethlehem" from our friends at _Adventures in Odyssey_.)**

 **(I also had to tack on a little bit of an addendum in this very chapter: since business was conducted at the city gates in ancient times, it is therefore likely that Joseph and Miriam were counted for the Roman census as soon as they entered the gates of the town. Therefore I moved the taxation point from a future chapter to here, as soon as they entered the town.)**

 **(Some Hebrew words used in this chapter. "Han" refers to the style of house used in those days [which i called Zechariah's dwelling as well, and of course we have the days of the week: frequently appearing in this story are Yom Rishon [Sunday, Yom Revi'i [Wednesday, and Yom Shishi [Friday]. Using those variations makes more sense in the setting of ancient Israel than their more common names with the names of Nordic gods thrown hither and yon. As for the "stable", I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too, like how the Jewish tradition has with both the Ishmaelites and Midianites taking Joseph into slavery. You will see all in the earth-shattering next chapter!)**


	10. The Anointed

**(AN: Here is the big, earth-shattering chapter that was promised [later than I had intended: sorry about that].)**

 **(Before we begin, a few things to say. People disagree on what "the stable" was, or if they stayed in a stable at all. The cave from the Protoevangelion of James is gaining popularity, while others say that it wasn't a cave at all, but the lower level of the han [or house/inn] of one of Joseph's relatives; the lower level being where the animals were kept, and therefore likely a place where one would find a manger or feeding trough. I decided to have my cake and eat it too by having, in a way, both stories be true. Furthermore, there is no record of a midwife in the canonical Gospels: that comes from the Protoevangelion of James, with some minor alterations on my part, as I felt that, noble, faithful, and diligent man though he was, Joseph wouldn't know the first thing about doing the duties of a midwife.)**

* * *

 **The Anointed**

The journey had ended, but things were by no means easier. Joseph was out on the streets for the rest of that day, asking around for work and any information on renting a house; only briefly at night would he return to Benjamin's han and sleep by himself, aside from Miriam. Benjamin found this arrangement odd: to his mind, the father of the child could be none other than Joseph, so why didn't he sleep close to his betrothed, as a man and his wife would normally do? As for Miriam, Benjamin wasn't any more courteous to her. Despite her condition, he expected that she help his wife Rebekah with her household preparations. The han was filled with guests and Rebekah was over-burdened by making food for all of them. Despite her condition, and Joseph's protests when he heard what his uncle was doing, Miriam agreed to this. She was equally as industrious in her work as Joseph; yet again, a reminder of how they had been most suitable for each other.

Unlike her husband, Rebekah was more sympathetic towards Miriam's condition; having had a few children of her own. Though she looked very similar to her husband - short, gray, and stocky - her face was not so stern and disapproving. However, as courteous as she was, she was flushed red from being on her feet practically non-stop. Despite this, she gave Miriam such tasks which she knew could be done by the young woman in her condition. Her day ended later than that of Joseph, for she had to help Rebekah put out the lamps and clean up after everyone had eaten.

They had arrived in Bethlehem about noon of Yom Revi'i, after four days journey through the mountains, deserts, rivers, cities, and hill country. The third day of their tenure in Bethlehem, Yom Shishi, the day before the Sabbath, had dawned. The streets of Bethlehem, like the day they had arrived, were not lying still. Miriam awoke wearily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes; she was so weary from the sleepless night, she barely realized the star glowing directly above her in the morning sky. She shifted herself onto her feet as best she could and went about looking for Rebekah to help with the morning meal. Joseph would need the food for his day today. No sooner had he left but she continued on with her work, as she had been doing these past three days.

About two hours after noon, Rebekah noticed that Miriam did not answer her after she had called her name. Three times she called for her, but there was no response, whether by voice or by presence. Frustrated, she sought the han for the young woman. After a little searching, she found Miriam in one of the storage rooms. She was squatting upon the ground, with one hand upon a large clay jar and another clutching the under-side of her stomach. She did not speak or cry out, but winced, groaned, and breathed heavily.

"There you are," Rebekah said. "Why didn't you answer me?" She then recognized what she was seeing.

"Find...Joseph..." Miriam groaned.

* * *

In the end, Rebekah sent one of her sons to go and fetch Joseph. It took some thirty minutes to find him and another for the two to make their way back to the han. Unfortunately, the young man had no answer for any of Joseph's questions: he hadn't been in the room to see how Miriam fared and therefore could not answer him. When they came back to the door of the han, the young man knocked on the door; once again Benjamin shouted that he had no room until he heard the voice of his son saying that he had Joseph with him. The bolt was removed and Joseph and the youth were ushered into the courtyard.

"This is your doing," Benjamin said to Joseph.

"What do you mean?" Joseph asked. "What's happened? Where is Miriam?"

Benjamin pointed with his hand to the side of the courtyard where they had rested before. Immediately Joseph made his way there, pushing through the animals until he came to the donkey. Behind the ass, he found Miriam kneeling upon the rug on the ground, leaning against the wall of the courtyard; her eyes were shut tightly closed and her lips were curled as if in great pain.

"What is it?" Joseph asked. "What's wrong?"

"He presses to come forth," Miriam sighed.

The color in Joseph's face vanished almost as soon as he heard this. Immediately he ran back across the courtyard, seized Benjamin by the scruff of his tunic, and dragged him over to the donkey.

"Let me go!" Benjamin protested.

"Why have you done this?" Joseph demanded. "To leave a woman in her hour of travail alone in your courtyard with no one to attend her!"

"What am I supposed to do?" Benjamin retorted. "I'm not a midwife! You're the one who did this to her, you figure it out!"

"What about Rebekah?" Joseph asked.

"She's busy cooking, she can't be spared."

"What about your sister-in-law Leah?"

"She's been dead for three years." Benjamin shook Joseph's hands off of his garb, rubbing his neck. "Now then, you'll have to take her away from here."

"What?!" Joseph exclaimed.

"I can't have a woman give birth in my courtyard!" Benjamin retorted. "Not with all the guests in my house!"

"Then where am I supposed to go?" Joseph asked. "What am I supposed to do?" Behind him, Miriam let out a loud and pained groan.

"Take your betrothed someplace else," Benjamin waved off.

"Where?!" Joseph pleaded.

"The spare stable, I suppose?" Benjamin replied. "It's in the hills nearby. You won't have to go far, but the guests won't be bothered by her cries."

Joseph did not waste a single moment. Immediately he went to Miriam and, taking her by the hand, helped her onto her feet. She would not be placed on the donkey again, not as she was near to her hour. They then walked slowly back out of the han, with Joseph steadying Miriam with one hand and holding his staff in the other, gently leading her out towards the hills. The ground became rockier as they left the bare town streets and entered the grassy hills. Joseph lifted up his eyes, looking this way and that, but did not seem to find what he was looking for. Immediately he closed his eyes and inclined his head upward.

"God of our fathers," he prayed. "Send help, I pray."

No sooner had he opened his eyes but he saw a star shining in the afternoon sky. As his eyes moved from the sky to the ground, he noticed a cave in the side of the hill. Immediately, he led Miriam towards the cave. It was bare and dry inside, with some straw upon the ground and a large stone manger on one end. Joseph let Miriam sit down upon the bare earth, suddenly aware of two pertinent facts; the first of which was that he had forgotten the rug from the courtyard of Benjamin's han. The second fact, most important and clearly more pressing, was that he was exactly what Miriam did _not_ need at the moment; a carpenter could no more fill the office of a midwife as a potter could that of a soldier upon the battlefield. But as he looked down at Miriam, he could see her brown eyes filled with fear.

"Here we are," Joseph stammered. "Tell me, wh-what do you need?"

"Gah!" Miriam groaned, squinting her eyes furiously. At length she gasped for breath and looked Joseph in his brown eyes. "Find a midwife."

Joseph nodded furiously; this he could do. He made his way back out of the cave and made his way towards the town. From behind he could hear Miriam's cries of agony. The normally stoic and collected Joseph was panicking, looking this way and that. His feet felt as heavy as cedar logs, and time seemed to slow down for him. He saw about him some children drinking from a well, several men eating on their middle of the day break from work, and a shepherd leading his flock off in the distance. But it seemed that there was nothing at all for his aid.

"Please, God of our fathers," Joseph begged. "Don't abandon Your servants in their time of need!"

Even now as he looked, he noticed a rather tall woman of middle age walking down from the hills. His heart leaped inside him, perhaps she could help him in some way.

"Woman!" he called out. She turned toward him.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" the woman asked.

"I am looking for a Hebrew midwife," Joseph gasped, realizing that he himself was out of breath.

"I am a Rachel bat-Judah," the woman replied. "And you, man; are you a son of Israel?"

"Yes," Joseph nodded. "I-I can pay you for your time, if you are a midwife."

"I have helped many women in Bethlehem give birth," Rachel said. "Take me to the woman and I will see to her."

Joseph led her to the cave. It suddenly dawned on him just how far he had actually gone when time seemed to stop for him, for it took him longer to make his way back than he had initially assumed. When he came to the mouth of the cave, he permitted Rachel to enter in first and kneel down beside Miriam.

"Miriam," Joseph said to her. "This woman is a midwife. She will help you."

"Thank you," Miriam gasped.

Rachel then turned to Joseph. "I will take care of your wife, man. It is not proper for you to watch us."

"She is my betrothed," Joseph clarified.

"Is she not your wife?" asked Rachel.

"I was promised to be married to her," Joseph replied. "But..." He hesitated.

"But what?" Rachel asked.

"The child she conceived is of the _Ruach HaKodesh_ ," Joseph answered.

Rachel rolled her eyes, apparently not buying what she had heard. "Listen, man, go to my house on the northern side of town and fetch me a birthing stool. Be quick about it, your betrothed will soon be delivered."

Joseph nodded. He had made a few before and knew what to look for. Immediately he left while Rachel attended to Miriam, removing first the veil from off the young woman's head. Miriam breathed a momentary sigh of relief; one of her prayers had been answered and she would not have to complain for missing the presence of her mother Hannah when her hour came. Furthermore, though this woman was not known to her, there was something soothing about her voice that put Miriam at ease.

"Listen to me very carefully, girl," Rachel said. "Breathe deeply and slowly. Everything's going to be alright. Do you understand me? Now, tell me, when did the pain come upon you?"

"An hour ago..." Miriam sighed.

Rachel touched the under-side of Miriam's stomach on either side. "The babe is low enough. You will be delivered before nightfall. Now tell me, have your waters broken?" Miriam shook her head. Rachel seemed taken aback by this news: seven and twenty years of serving her office as midwife and she had never before delivered a woman whose waters hadn't broken first. She then reached down with her hand beneath Miriam's skirt and suddenly her eyes widened.

"Your maidenhead is intact," Rachel said, speaking almost as if in a trance. "But, you're with child and about to be delivered." Miriam cried out as a powerful force squeezed her abdomen; that cry was enough to snap Rachel out of her amazement and return her maternal instincts into action.

"This is going to hurt a great deal," said the midwife. She reached into her skirt and removed a small knife, shaking her head; none of this made sense, that a thing outside of the natural order had happened. Nonetheless, she had to do something so that the young woman could properly give birth. There was one swift motion, Miriam cried out in pain, and Rachel set aside the knife for the cutting of the cord.

"There, that's done," Rachel assured the poor girl. "Now, remember, listen to my voice and breathe deeply."

Miriam did as she was told, breathing deeply and trying not to focus on the pain. Her face was covered in sweat. There was pain down below and a squeezing, tightening discomfort in the middle. The shape of the midwife cut off some of the light from the entrance of the cave. As the pain grew and the tightening in her abdomen intensified, suddenly there came to her a thought in her head; something that spoke to her in her own voice. But the words it said made her afraid.

 _Look at yourself; writhing upon the ground in agony, bleeding, disgraced. You know not if you will even live to see your child grow to manhood and come into His own. Is this the favor which the God of your fathers has blessed you with? There is no honor in this, no glory, nothing praise-worthy. Curse the One who brought you to such a low and contemptible state for His own ends; the pain will pass then, I promise you._

 _No,_ Miriam retorted in her mind. _I have pledged myself to the service of HaShem. I cannot go back now. Even if I do not live to see His Messiah, I am the maid-servant of HaShem._

Another long and painful hour passed. Joseph returned at the mouth of the cave, bearing the stool in his hands. Rachel told him to place it down at the entrance, then to fetch oil, cloth, and water from the well and bring it to her. He nodded and left again, while Rachel brought the birthing stool over to her side of the cave. After setting it on a patch of relatively flat ground, she took Miriam's arms in her own and lifted her onto the stool.

"Listen to me," Rachel said to Miriam. "You're going to be fine. Just keep breathing, alright? The girls I attend, they're always nervous about their firstborn." Miriam nodded, in too much agony to speak. "Once your betrothed gets back, we'll see to this bleeding." Miriam gasped.

"It's nothing, girl," Rachel assured her. "Most women shed a little blood when they deliver their child. There's nothing to be concerned about." She placed a comforting hand on Miriam's shoulder; the poor girl seized her arm and squeezed hard upon it, groaning and panting with the strain.

"I'm here, alright?" Rachel continued. "I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me?"

Miriam nodded, then sighed for a brief moment as she caught her breath. "Please...pray for me..."

* * *

It took Joseph more time to find what he needed now than before. For the stool, he had only to find the house of Rachel bat-Judah the midwife. But for these supplies, he had to compete with everyone in Bethlehem, to say nothing of the visitors come down here for the census. He was able to purchase some cloth, but the oil was harder to come by; there was none to spare in Benjamin's han, and most of the stores around him were out. He ended up finding some, but paid almost double the usual amount. With these, he then went to the town well that he had espied on his search for a midwife. Unfortunately, it was also crowded and he had to wait a while before he had the opportunity to draw water for himself. With the cloth upon his shoulders, the oil in one hand and the bucket cradled against his chest, Joseph at last returned to the cave and gave the things to Rachel; an hour and a half had passed since he last left.

She thanked him for the things then told him to wait outside, out of view, and not to enter until she came out of the cave. With nothing more to do, Joseph paced on the hillside a stone's throw away from the cave, keeping sure that he wasn't able to see what was going on inside it. Another thirty minutes went by, and still nothing. All he could hear were Miriam's anguished cries; he wanted to do something for her, but knew that he could do nothing. So he waited and paced back and forth, rubbing his arms against the cool evening air and praying that the God of his fathers look upon his betrothed with kindness. Little did he know that he was not alone here.

In the cave, Rachel had prayed for Miriam and her delivery when she had asked for it. Between the agonizing pain and her attempts to breathe, Miriam also prayed. Some eighty-six miles to the northwest, Zechariah and Elisabeth remembered Miriam; the old woman in particular guessed that the young girl's time of travail must certainly be at hand. After they prayed the evening shema, Zechariah and Elisabeth prayed for Miriam and her child. Farther in the north, in the town of Nazareth, Joachim and Hannah made their own preparations to depart; being of the tribe of Judah themselves, they would have to make the journey south, if only for a couple of days, and would be leaving on Yom Rishon, the day after the Sabbath tomorrow. They wondered if they would, per chance, run into Miriam and Joseph down there; remembering the hard time they had endured at the hand of their neighbors, and how difficult it must be for a poor young woman in her hour of need in a strange town, they prayed as well. Seven righteous souls in Israel praying for the one who carried the Anointed One.

But they were not alone either. In Jerusalem, Aram, Jabesh, Deborah, Sarah, and their children prayed for the King to come. In the Temple, an old man and an old woman, one of the priests of the Temple and a prophetess of no less noble stock than Deborah or Huldah of old, pleaded with the God of their fathers that they might live to see the Messiah. All of Israel prayed for the Anointed One, imagining in their hearts another David who would drive out the Romans and establish a reign of a thousand years of peace and righteousness in the world. Beyond this, in the wide and barren deserts of the east, a caravan settled down for the night. They had come far on a long journey from Persepolis, but hadn't reached the oasis that night. While their guards kept watch over the night, the aged magicians looked to the heavens and prayed that the Highest would safeguard their journey and allow their eyes to see the Messiah.

* * *

The sun sank into the west; the shofar was blown, signaling the coming of the Sabbath. Those in the streets returned inside, and those at work dropped what they were doing and ceased to labor. Darkness fell upon the streets of Bethlehem, as the hours of twilight descended upon the land of Judah. Only a handful of people continued to perform their duties this late in the day; shepherds in the hill country were not allowed to bring their sheep into the city during the Sabbath, as not only would this be an act of labor but the odor and stigma of shepherds would profane the blessed Sabbath (at least, this was held in the common knowledge). In the cave, Rachel remained with Miriam for the long, laborious hours; the bloody ordeal was almost over and now she told Miriam to clench her teeth and bare down. No one in Bethlehem heard a sound or saw a thing, for it seemed that a great storm had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. A dark cloud descended from the night-sky and hovered over the cave; those who were without heard from that cloud the sound of thunder, the rumblings as of an earthquake, and the rush of a mighty wind.

No sooner had the cloud appeared and the thunder sounded but they vanished, leaving only a somewhat cloudy night sky. A single star, brighter than all the other stars of the evening, shone down in the sky directly above the cave. Joseph had fallen asleep from the exhaustion of the day's worries and Miriam's time; even the sound of her agonized cries could not keep the weariness from his eyes. Only the rumblings and the wind aroused him from his sleep. He rose up from the mouth of the cave and looked up and around him; he saw the cloud, but he heard no noise of thunder. Instead, it seemed, that he could hear what sounded like voices chanting in the distance; an echo on the very edge of hearing. Suddenly there was a new sound that drowned out the echo, a sound much louder, more piercing, and much closer indeed.

The sound of a newborn baby crying out.

Joseph's heart skipped a beat as he rose to his feet and thanked the God of his fathers. He turned towards the mouth of the cave and saw Rachel slowly walking out of the cave; her hands were covered in blood, and her face was astonished. She seemed to be in a trance; her lips moving soundlessly and her eyes glassy as they looked at her hands but seemed to also look through them. Joseph ran up to her, his heart racing and his veins filled with energy, and stood by her, his hands almost touching her shoulders.

"What happened?" he asked. "Is Miriam alright? Is the child well? Tell me, woman!"

Rachel seemed to be snapped out of her stupor and turned to Joseph.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, that's right!" she said. " _Mazel tov_ , man; a son has been born this night."

"Hallelujah!" Joseph exclaimed. "And Miriam, how is she?"

"She is well," Rachel replied. "She is very exhausted, and she is still in her blood, so she is unclean. I will let the village rabbi know of this birth, and tell him to expect you in eight days, for the circumcision. He will tell you what else you must do."

"Thank you, good woman," Joseph said. " _HaShem_ bless you for all that you have done for us. I will pay double whatever you ask!"

Rachel only partially acknowledged this. Instead, she was still looking at her blooded hands, and muttering over and over to herself:

"A maid giving birth to a male child. What kind of miracle is this!"

Joseph, meanwhile, made his way into the cave. As soon as he stepped in, he covered his mouth as the sickening smell of animal manure, wet straw, and blood met his nostrils. Looking down, he noticed Miriam sitting on the birthing stool, the front bottom of her robes stained with blood. In her arms was a little baby nestled against her breast; Miriam, meanwhile, was kissing the baby's forehead, streams of tears running down her eyes. The fat hand with its tiny fingers gripped her robe tightly, eager to be close to the warmth of her body and away from the cold of the night air; she let out a sound that was half between a laugh and a sigh and kissed His head again.

"Miriam," Joseph whispered. She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. He suddenly realized that his eyes were filled with tears as well.

"Beloved," Miriam sighed.

"Is this...is this Him?" Joseph asked, his voice full of emotion.

Miriam nodded silently, and looked down at the little baby clinging to her.

"Joshua."

* * *

 **(AN: And now He is born!)**

 **(Full disclosure: I was in tears while writing this chapter, especially with the added music of Joy Williams' "Here With Us" and the Boston Camerata rendition of "Gaudete". How Joseph finds Miriam in the cave came from a dream I had, which I will not go into detail over: all the good, wholesome stuff made it into the story. Although I hope that, like with the "Most Suitable" chapter, I wasn't too graphic in the depiction for you [no, it wasn't a Cesarean section]. The part about the temptation was a complete invention of my own: the evil one is presenting the modernist argument against child-bearing as if to cause Miriam to curse God in her moment of pain, and her victory over that temptation I hope makes it better for you.)**


	11. Heralds of Glory

**(AN:)**

* * *

 **Heralds of Glory**

It took Joseph a moment to stop shaking before he could master his hands and wipe the tears out of his eyes and his beard. The Salvation from the Almighty, what had been promised the people of Israel since time immemorial, was now here in the world, lying on the breast of his betrothed. He couldn't shake the feeling of immense humility: surely _HaShem_ 's Messiah deserved a better place than this stinking, filthy cave. For a brief moment, he knew not what to do; then his senses came back to him. He walked over to the stone manger in the corner of the cave. With both hands, he dragged the heavy trough across the floor and over to Miriam's side, then went about in search of the cleanest, driest straw in the cave.

Miriam guessed exactly what he meant by this, and suddenly it dawned upon her just how exhausted she was; her lower body ached and was more sore than if she had made the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of their donkey a thousand times over. Rachel had cut the cord that bound the baby's navel to her womb, and had anointed and washed His body with oil; even so, she told her that, as it was late, it was not wise to keep the baby naked for so long in the night. Miriam concealed her bosom within her robe, and then reached for her shawl; it was the only article of clothing she had on hand that was not soaked in sweat and blood. She then wrapped the baby's body tightly in her shawl, leaving nothing exposed but His tiny squished face. His eyelids creaked open, and His big brown eyes looked up at His mother, wondering where the warmth had gone. Miriam smiled, leaned in, and kissed His forehead. She took Him up in her arms, with one hand cradled His head, leaned over the trough, which Joseph had now lined with dry, clean straw, and placed the baby in the manger.

"God of Abraham," Miriam prayed. "Thank You, from the bottom of Your servant's heart, that You have permitted Your servant to live and see Your Son."

She leaned back against the wall of the cave, smiling but her eyes full of tears. She muttered thanks to _HaShem_ over and over beneath her breath, happy beyond all hope that her prayers had been answered. The pain and the agony were over and done with; now she looked forward with hope to a bright future as she fell asleep.

Joseph, meanwhile, looked down upon the little baby lying in the manger. He did not stir, and His eyes were now shut behind their eyelids. He smiled, and then turned back to Miriam. Her bosom moved beneath her robe as she slept, and so he was not afraid. Unfortunately, he was in a bit of a situation. Likely he could not go back to Benjamin's han until Miriam's purification had been completed; he didn't know enough of the Torah to know how long this would take, and made a note to ask the rabbi about this come the next Yom Shishi. Therefore he would have to stay in the cave with Miriam and keep out anyone who might try to evict them or do them harm. He made his way to the mouth of the cave and sat therein, with his staff leaning against the wall of the cave, and kept his watch.

* * *

The streets of Bethlehem were quiet and only the distant bleating of sheep or a faint barking of some dog could be heard. The night deepened and Joseph's eyes grew heavy with sleep; yet he forced himself to stay awake and keep vigil. The kings of the earth demanded their soldiery stand guard by day and night, surely the Son of _HaShem_ deserved no less. Just then, he heard footsteps coming up the rocky hillside and furtive whispering. Looking with his eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, Joseph thought he could make out a single torch bobbing up the side of the hill towards the entrance to the cave. He rose up and took his staff in his hand, ready to guard the entrance if need be. Below he could hear voices whispering, now clearer and more distinct than before:

"This is it; it has to be the one. It's the only sheep's cote we haven't searched."

"Hold!" Joseph called out.

"Shalom to you, on this blessed night!" one of the voices from down below spoke. "Wait a while and we shall be with you shortly."

"Who are you?" Joseph asked. "What do you want?"

"My name is Aaron," the one who spoke first said. "With me are my brothers in the fold; Jonah, Eliezar, Jacob, and Simeon. We are shepherds by trade..."

"Do you wish to use this cave to stow your flock for the night?" Joseph asked. "It's occupied, you'll have to go elsewhere."

"We're not here for our sheep," Aaron called out. "We are here for something else entirely; something much greater than sheep!" By this time, the five shepherds had gained the side of the hill where the cave sat, and were now level with Joseph. In addition he saw, at the rear of their group, two young men whom Aaron introduced as Abner and Judah, rounding their number out to a most sacred seven. Already Joseph was feeling nervous: he could not hold his own against seven, if they meant to take the cave for themselves.

"You're shepherds," Joseph reasoned. "Why else would you be here if not for your flock?"

"Has there been a child born here tonight?" the young Abner spoke up.

"Quiet, boy!" Eliezar interjected. He then turned to Joseph. "Please, pardon this one's forwardness. We have all seen great wonders tonight. It..." He chuckled. "...it truly is a miracle that we do not burst into tears, or-or...or prophesy on the spot!"

"Shh!" Joseph shushed. "Keep your voices down!"

"We cannot be quiet!" Simeon insisted. "Nor would you, if you saw what we saw!"

"What have you seen?" Joseph asked.

Aaron, who seemed to be the leader of the group, stood between his brothers and Joseph and, breathing deeply and attempting to be calm, spoke to him. "This night, we were in the hill country outside of the town, tending our flock."

"We have to keep our sheep in the hills until Yom Rishon," Jonah clarified.

"Then, all of a sudden," Aaron continued. "A great cloud descended from the heavens to the earth. There was rumbling and-and the noise of wind..."

"It was the glory of _HaShem_!" Jacob, the eldest member of the group, interjected; holding one hand to heaven as though he were a prophet. "Even as He appeared to our fathers on Mount Sinai!" Joseph, and the other shepherds, shushed him down; then Aaron continued.

"Just as the cloud came down, it rolled back like a scroll," said Aaron. "And a bright light shone upon the hill where we stood, and...something came out of the cloud!"

"It must have been three hundred cubits tall if it was a span!" Jacob added. "Skin like flaming brass!"

"Six golden wings full of eyes!" Simeon interjected.

"Four faces upon his head," Eliezar stated. "And the first bore the likeness of the elders of the Temple!"

"With a sword in his belt and a staff in his hand," said Jonah. "And all in white!"

"It must have been an angel!" said Jacob.

"We were all terrified," said the young Abner.

"We looked for death," Judah added.

"And then he spoke," Aaron continued. "'Fear not, sons of Jacob; have no fear, children of Israel. Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy for all peoples. For unto you is born, this day, in the city of David a savior: _Messiah HaAdonai_!'"

Stunned silence fell among them, and they looked at Joseph as if they expected some kind of response or rebuke. The word they used, quite different from the 'lord' they were expected to address kings and nobles with, was reserved only for _HaShem_.

"The angel gave us a sign, too," Abner added. "To know where to find Him. He said that we would find 'a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.'"

"Then a more wonderful thing happened, man," Aaron said, speaking to Joseph. "We noticed that the cloud that enveloped the angel were in fact the very hosts of heaven..."

"Myriads upon myriads of angels, all of them in burning white!" Jacob added.

"...and they sang with one voice," said Aaron, his voice quivering as he spoke. "So loud that it seemed to stretch to every corner of the earth: 'Glory to God in the Highest, and peace on earth and goodwill to men.'" He sighed.

"And then they were gone," said Eliezar, in a voice of lingering awe. "As soon as they had appeared."

"So we each, to a man, decided this thing," said Jonah. "That we would go into Bethlehem and see this great thing that _HaShem_ has given us."

"Yes, that's right!" Aaron added, finally mastering himself. "And we have searched every sheep's cote in Bethlehem, save for this one."

"I'm afraid I can't let you in," Joseph said.

"You can't?" exclaimed Simeon.

"But you must let us look," begged Aaron. "Only for a brief moment. We must see the child!"

"I said no," Joseph returned. "I'm sorry!"

"Please," begged Jacob. "This is no time to stand on ceremony. The Messiah has been born!"

"What's going on out there?" Miriam's voice was heard from inside the cave.

"Please, gentle mother, let us in!" Aaron cried out. "We wish to see the Messiah!"

* * *

Joseph had had enough with these smelly old shepherds disturbing their sleep in the middle of the night with their story. He was exhausted and his mind was half-asleep, though his body was awake and alert. He stood in the mouth of the cave and barred his staff before the shepherds to block their entrance. Aaron, Jacob, Judah, and Abner tried to make a rush for the cave but were stopped by his staff. They begged and pleaded with Joseph to be let in.

"Joseph," Miriam's voice spoke. "It's alright. Let them in."

"Belo..." Joseph stammered. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she replied.

He stood back from the entrance and let down his guard. Aaron pushed his way in, with the young men following fast on his heels; Jacob bowed and apologized to Joseph for the forwardness and eagerness of his brothers, while Simeon, Jonah, and Eliezar slowly walked into the cave at the rear. The small cave was now very crowded, and the ambient heat was raised by the ten bodies inside.

"Gentle mother," Jacob said, turning to Miriam. "Forgive my brothers for their forwardness. We've only come to see the Promised One, the Messiah; the One whose birth was heralded by the angels of glory."

"Come and see," Miriam said to them, smiling though she was exhausted and roused from sleep.

She leaned back and gestured with her hand to the place where the stone trough sat on the floor. Lying amid the straw was the little baby, wrapped tightly in His mother's shawl. Abner and Judah stood, leaning upon their staves and looking down at the child. The eldest among them, Jacob and Aaron, got down on their knees and placed their old, gnarled hands upon the edge of the trough. Jonah joined them as well, but he had the bravery to reach out his hand towards the child, trembling as he did. With trepidation in his eyes, he turned to Miriam; she nodded wordlessly and he, his brown eyes brimming with tears, reached down and caressed baby Joshua's forehead. Simeon and Eliezar stood behind Jacob and Aaron, feasting their eyes upon the newborn Messiah but daring not to come so close.

There was reverent silence within the cave that night. Jonah shoved Simeon and Eliezar closed to the trough; he knew that they would regret it for the rest of their lives if they didn't take the same chance to touch _HaShem_ 's Messiah. Abner and Judah both set aside their staves and touched the stone trough. Old Jacob reached out with his hand and Joshua's tiny fist closed around one long, withered finger; the old shepherd watered his long white beard with the tears from his eyes.

"What is the child's name, good woman?" Aaron asked, in a soft whisper out of reverence for this holy night and consideration for the One who slept.

"His name is Joshua," Miriam replied.

The shepherds looked on in stunned silence for a good long moment. Several of the older ones had tears in their eyes, while Abner and Judah looked on solemnly.

"A fitting name," Jacob said. "For the savior of Israel."

"'For all peoples,'" quoth Eliezar.

One by one, they each moved closer to the stone trough and placed their hands upon the edge thereof; some of the bolder ones even touched the child's forehead. Even the young men, standing behind their elders in stone-faced silence, dared to approach the manger and touch the side thereof.

"Thank you, gentle mother," Aaron said, turning to Miriam. "From all the sons of Israel, to you who have born our consolation; blessed art thou among women." Miriam nodded in return and inclined her head.

By the time the seven hands of the shepherds had touched the stone manger, there was not a single dry pair of eyes in the cave that night; save only for baby Joshua. Joseph and Miriam both wept for the knowledge of what they were witnessing this night. Here was the fulfillment of every prophecy ever spoken by _HaShem_ 's servants since before the elders were young, and yet here the infant Messiah lay in a filthy spare stable in one of the second worst places is Israel: He deserved much better than this, they both felt. Where were the rabbis and scholars of Israel? For all their experience studying the Torah, they too were oblivious to the coming of the Messiah.

Over and over the shepherds thanked Miriam and Joseph, and showered blessings upon the child. Then they slowly made their way out of the cave; they walked backwards, for their eyes were unwilling to turn away from the newborn Messiah until they had left the cave. Once they had at last gained the exit, Aaron and Jacob threw up their hands in praise.

"Praise _HaShem_ , who has ordained the deliverance of Israel since the days of eternity!" Aaron cried out.

"Praise _HaShem_ ," Jacob added. "Who has hidden these things from those that are great and mighty, and revealed them to those that are of low estate."

"Surely we won't keep these great things secret, shall we?" Eliezar urged.

"No, sir," Abner shook his head.

"Of course not!" said Simeon, his beard shaking as he shook his head in protest.

"We must tell everyone the good news!" Jonah added, shaking the staff within his hand.

"Yes!" Judah replied. "It is time."

The shepherds made their way down the hill, praising the God of their fathers and singing aloud into the night air. Judah sounded his shepherd's horn even as they entered the streets of Bethlehem, and they dispersed throughout the streets, seeking out anyone they encountered. From the mouth of the cave, where Joseph watched their departure, he could hear their sounds in the streets below. At length, the light of their torch disappeared into the town and they were at last lost to the watchful eyes of Joseph.

Miriam, meanwhile, was pulling handfuls of dry, clean straw into a small pile near the trough. She was exhausted from the many long hours of labor and was more than ready for sleep. Joseph stayed at the mouth of the cave to keep watch through the night, ignoring her many protests to return to Benjamin's han and sleep there. He insisted that he keep watch that night: after all, this was _HaShem_ 's Messiah and He deserved all the protection he could afford. Miriam, on the other hand, wondered if she should tell him about the things that had happened in the desert. Perhaps then he would know that _HaShem_ had been with them all this time.

But her mind was weary from lack of sleep and exhaustion, and there were other things to occupy her thoughts presently. She thought of the shepherds and what they had seen and what they had heard this night; their reverence and sincerity filled her with amazement and strengthened her faith. There could be no further doubt of the miraculous thing that had transpired. At last she laid down upon the little pile of straw next to the trough. Immediately her hand reached up and wrapped over the child lying asleep within the manger, as a hen sheltering her chicks under her wings. As her mind drifted off to sleep, she thought of the fact that her child was no longer safely inside her, but now out in the cruel, dark, cold world. She would have to protect Him and keep Him safe; but she was a nobody, the betrothed of a Nazarean carpenter, how could she keep the Son of _HaShem_ safe? She thought also of how He had clung to her against the chill of the evening, and it made her head spin.

For now, she was content. She had lived to see the birth of _HaShem_ 's Messiah, and now the future seemed unbelievably bright and full of hope and joy. Even under the shadow of being born in a stable - not to mention the visit of the seven smelly shepherds - she could not shake the feeling of profound happiness as she closed her eyes and fell swiftly asleep.

* * *

 **(AN: George Frideric Handel, Peter Hollens and the Piano Guys: eat your collective hearts out!)**

 **(I did notice that Miriam and Joseph go from calling God " _HaShem_ " to "God of our fathers" in this story. At first it was just incidental, particularly Miriam's first words of this chapter, meant to serve as a poetical bookend to what she says in _Joshua King of Heaven_ when she's weeping over His body: but then I decided to write it into the story proper. You will see why as the story goes on.)**

 **(The phrase " _Messiah HaAdonai_ " is more jumbled faux-Jewish of mine. The shepherds likely wouldn't have known Greek and wouldn't have called Him "Kristos Kyrie" [Christ the LORD], so I jumbled together enough of my limited knowledge of Hebrew to create a linguistically appropriate alternative. Although, it is my belief that the shepherds heard Gabriel's message in their own language [Hebrew], and would have translated the message thusly: I only retained the more recognizable form of the angelic song as a bone for all of you.)**


	12. The Incident at the Temple

**(AN: You all are going to know the Jewish names of the days of the week by the time this story is done! Aside from Yom Chamishi [that is Thursday] every day has been named in the chapters up to and including this one.)**

 **(Also, for those who may have been upset with that little flashback from the second part of 'A Journey South', I threw you all a bone from my reading of _Legends of the Jews_. Enjoy!)**

* * *

 **The Incident at the Temple**

When the Sabbath dawned the next day, it seemed that the joy of the previous night had been all but forgotten. No further meetings occurred that day, no revelations whether physical or angelic. It seemed to be quite an ordinary day, for a Sabbath at least. Joseph went to the synagogue while Miriam was obliged to stay in the cave and take care of baby Joshua. This was not terribly inconvenient for her, to be truthful, nor against her liking either. She was still sore from last night, and her clothes were damp with sweat and stained with blood. She did not feel at all like being among people, even for the Sabbath.

 _Praise HaShem_ , she thought, _for giving us the Torah that gave women forty days of cleansing and purification after the birth of a male child._

For that day, she held Joshua in her arms, rocking Him back and forth, singing to Him bits and pieces of the melodies she had heard as a child herself. Aside from her own body having to recover after last night's painful and bloody ordeal, there was another reason she was thankful for the forty days of separation. Her mother had told her to take care of their neighbors' children, likely in preparing her for when she would have her own children. While it had been difficult then to do so, small children being what they are, it was even harder for her to do this all alone and for her own child. Yet she managed quite well for her firstborn Son. She wondered about an old parable her mother Hannah had told her when she was young, about the differences between men and women.

"'Man was made from the dust of the ground,'" Hannah told her. "'But woman was made from the rib of the man. Throw a jar made of clay to the ground, and it breaks; but throw a bone to the ground, and it does not break. Women have strengths of our own, and certain things that can break a man cannot break a woman.'"

Surely it was that kind of strength which allowed her to take care of this little messy child.

Which is not to say that it was all bad either. Miriam remembered that the children she had taken care of in Nazareth had, at some point or another, a pervasive trait of fussiness. But not Joshua; He only cried when He was cold or hungry or in need of being cleaned. The rest of the time, He looked up at His mother, smiled when He heard her voice, and laughed if she kissed His nose or stomach. The sound of the infant's giggle filled Miriam with joy.

Many hours later, Joseph returned to the cave from the synagogue and told her about what had happened. He got to meet the rabbi and see where he stayed, so that he would be able to find him come the next Yom Shishi; the eighth day of Joshua's life. Aside from this, he was very excited about what had been read from the Torah at the synagogue: a passage from the prophet Micah pertaining to the Messiah. She could feel the excitement radiating off of him as he spoke, the smile on his face, and the impassioned gestures of his hands as they articulated the story along with his own words.

"Can you believe it, Miriam?" he asked. "All this time, I thought that I was just protecting you from idle gossip and rumors back in Nazareth, or at least fulfilling what little duty we have to Rome. Now I see that it was the work of _HaShem_ moving through us all along."

"What do you mean?" Miriam asked, as she sat against the cave wall, Joshua in her arms.

"The words of the prophet Micah," Joseph repeated. "'But thou, Bethlehem-Ephratah, though thou art least among the myriads of Judah, yet from thee shall He come forth who shall be ruler in Israel; whose come has been of old, even from everlasting to everlasting.' It was the will of _HaShem_ that we came to Bethlehem!" He smiled and let out a happy sigh.

"What is it, beloved?" Miriam asked.

"It gives me comfort," Joseph replied. "To know that _HaShem_ 's will is greater than all the powers of the world: greater than Caesar in Rome, or Cyrenius in Syria, or Herod in his palace. The kings of the earth think they act of their own power and will, but it is the Hand of _HaShem_ that guides them."

Miriam smiled. That Joseph was starting to believe this was good. Nonetheless, she felt honored to have had a revelation of this fact first and foremost: perhaps it was fated to be this way. According to legend, when _HaShem_ revealed the Torah to Israel on Mount Sinai, it was the women whose minds were first opened to this truth, and for this they did not bow down to the golden calf with their men. Now, in the present, to see the truth she had believed for these nine long months come to pass - and that she was alive to see these things and others - filled her with great joy and happiness. There was also something comforting in the knowledge that _HaShem_ had not forsaken His people, even almost four hundred and forty years after the destruction of the Temple.

* * *

The Sabbath came and went, and Yom Rishon dawned. Joseph continued looking for work to pay for the house they would be moving into once they were ready for the census registry, and Miriam continued taking care of baby Joshua. With what little money Joseph had and could earn from odd-jobs around Bethlehem, he bought for them food and clean cloth. Miriam needed the cloth, as well as water from the well, for her own purification.

But she was by no means idle while she was cloistered away in the cave. Aside from cooking, cleaning herself, and taking care of baby Joshua, something else came into her mind. When Joseph returned to the cave after a hard day's work, she made measurements across his shoulders and waist with her hands and arms. After she got a handle for how broad his shoulders were, she asked him for needle and thread, which he was willing to procure. She knew how to sew, and what she planned to make was something truly special. All the prophets and priests of old had for themselves a stately robe which they wore as a sign of their office: and she had a mind to weave one for Joshua when He was to come into manhood.

Yom Rishon ended and so began Yom Sheni, the day the heathens dedicated to the moon. And so the days went on, one after another. Joseph went to do his work, and to provide for his small family, and Miriam stayed in the cave, taking care of business, recovering, and taking care of baby Joshua. Eventually the swelling of her stomach receded and outwardly, she seemed very similar to her old self. But there were some changes more substantial, aside from her constant nursing of the child: she seemed to be bleeding all the time, and did what she could with the cloth Joseph brought her to stem the flow. Day after day this continued, and she worried if something was wrong. She asked Joseph to find Rachel and ask her about the bleeding; the midwife told Joseph that it was not unnatural and that she should continue in her purification until the appointed time when the rabbi would say that she was released.

So the days went on, one into another, and the next Yom Shishi dawned. After eating breakfast, Joseph went at once to the synagogue to find the rabbi's house. To his great relief, the rabbi was available and, apparently, in better spirits than Benjamin. He didn't even spend time haggling on a price but accepted Joseph's first offer and went into his house to gather the tools of his craft. While Joseph was waiting outside the rabbi's house, he heard someone calling his name behind him. He turned around and noticed a familiar face upon the streets of Bethlehem.

"Joseph?" the gray-haired man asked.

"Joachim!" Joseph greeted. He ran up to the father of Miriam and, as was the custom, embraced him and planted a kiss on each cheek.

"What brings you here?" Joseph asked.

"The same reason you're here, for the census," Joachim replied. "No sooner had you and Miriam left, but I spoke to an old friend up from Capernaum. He told me there wasn't any way we could have registered in Nazareth, since my wife and I are also of the house of Judah. So we made the trip down here."

"Hannah is with you as well?" Joseph asked. "That is wonderful news. Miriam will be happy to see her again."

"And how is my daughter?" Joachim asked. "Is she well?"

"Yes, she is well," Joseph nodded. "I've just spoken with the rabbi; he will perform the circumcision."

"Circumcision?" Joachim asked. "Has it really been eight days already?" He shrugged, but didn't comment further. Joseph did not blame him, for he could not help but empathize with the old man. Presently, the rabbi came out with his tools and things in a leather sack tied over his shoulder.

"I must go," Joseph said.

"Where are you staying?" Joachim asked. "My wife and I may come over to visit."

"At my uncle Benjamin's han," Joseph replied; he did not add that they were staying in the spare stable in the hills behind the han. They parted, with Joachim telling Joseph that they would see each other again as Joseph and the rabbi made their way toward the cave.

* * *

At the cave, Joseph introduced the rabbi, an elderly man named Lemuel. The old rabbi asked for Joseph to hand him the baby, since he could not take Him from Miriam herself yet. Joseph took the child, wrapped in Miriam's shawl as before - the blanket she had been working on remained forgotten back in Nazareth - and presented Him to the rabbi.

"And _HaShem_ spake to Abraham, saying," Lemuel repeated "'This is my covenant, which ye shall keep, between Me and you and thy seed after thee; every man child among you shall be circumcised. And ye shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin; and it shall be a token of the covenant between Me and you. And he that is eight days old shall be circumcised among you, every man child in your generations, he that is born in the house, or bought with money of any stranger, which is not of thy seed.'"

"Amen," Joseph and Miriam said one after another.

Miriam had witnessed the circumcision of John, and hadn't enjoyed the crying of the infant any more than his mother did. But it seemed to hurt her a bit more when it was her Son under the knife. Thankfully the deed was done, and Miriam did not have to hold her breath over-long. Joseph took the child, wrapped Him in the shawl, and delivered Him back into Miriam's arms.

"Blessed art thou, _HaShem_ , our God, who is King over all the world; who sanctified Israel with the covenant of circumcision."

"Amen," Joseph and Miriam repeated.

"What is the boy's name?" the rabbi asked.

Joseph turned to Miriam, who nodded wordlessly at him; he then turned to the rabbi. "His name is Joshua."

"Joshua," rabbi Lemuel repeated. "A worthy name. And may this child, like the son of Nun, be a shining example of the salvation of _HaShem_ through study of the Torah and good deeds."

"Amen," Joseph and Miriam mumbled.

"Woman," Lemuel said to Miriam. "Eight days have passed, and two and thirty remain yet for your purification. On the fortieth day, you shall be clean and may enter into the court of the women in the Holy Temple. On that day, you shall present this child before _HaShem_ to be redeemed and dedicated."

"Thank you, rabbi," Miriam replied.

"It is part of the Torah," said Lemuel. "Given to us from _HaShem_ by the hand of Moses. For _HaShem_ spake unto Moses and said: 'Sanctify unto Me all the firstborn, whatsoever openeth the womb among the children of Israel, both of man and of beast, it belongeth to _HaShem_.' And again, 'When _HaShem_ thy God shall bring thee into the land which He promised to our fathers...'"

"Peace be upon them," Joseph and Miriam muttered, lowering their heads.

"'Thou shalt set apart unto _HaShem_ all the firstborn, of man and of beast, such as open the womb. The firstborn of thy children thou shalt redeem.'"

"How shall we redeem Him?" Miriam asked.

"With a lamb," Lemuel said. "Without spot or blemish."

"But, rabbi," Joseph interjected. "We're poor people. We cannot afford a lamb."

"Do not be afraid," Lemuel said reassuringly. " _HaShem_ considers the plight of the poor, for He ordained in the Torah that the reaper and the harvester gather not all the increase from their crops and vineyards, but save a portion for the poor. As for the redemption of the firstborn, you may purchase two turtle-doves or two pigeons, which are sold only for a shekel; that will suffice."

They both thanked the rabbi, who blessed them and the child before leaving the cave.

* * *

With business concluded, Joseph went out onto the town to look for work. Miriam, meanwhile, remained in the cave; she was still sore, aching, and bleeding. For the present, Joshua was sleeping and she was doing her best to wash out some of her clothes. Though she still had two and thirty days before she was considered clean, she felt filthy and disgusting in unwashed clothes. In between this, she set about starting a fire and preparing what warm food they had for when Joseph would return from work. Hours passed in this until, at length, she heard footsteps from outside the cave. Peeking outside, she saw her mother Hannah running up the hill to the entrance of the cave, her hands holding up her skirt.

"Mama!" Miriam cried out, waving at her approaching mother. She was quite surprised to see her mother here in Bethlehem, but had no time to consider why or how this happened. Hannah had gained the top and, without another word, threw her arms around her daughter's shoulders.

"My poor little bird!" Hannah said, sobbing into Miriam's shoulder. "It's as we were told!" She pulled back and planted a kiss on each of Miriam's cheeks. The young woman noticed that her own eyes were moist with tears.

"This is not a place for you," Hannah said, gesturing to the cave. "Oh, your father is giving Benjamin a piece of his mind about this lack of hospitality; the flames of Hinnom do not burn hotter than your father's fury...and his wrath is only _half_ of mine!"

"Papa is here too?" Miriam asked.

"Yes," Hannah nodded. "We both came down here for the census. Joachim ran into Joseph earlier today, and he told us where you were staying. When we came to Benjamin's house, we found out that you were staying here of all places! A sheep's cote, fit for nothing more than filthy sheep!"

"Shh!" Miriam replied in assuring tones. "Please, Mama. It's alright." She tried hard to keep from smiling, as she thought about the fuss her dear mother would make if she knew about the shepherds.

"It is by no means alright!" Hannah insisted, raising her voice. "You should be in a proper house!"

"Please, Mama," Miriam insisted. "Don't shout; you'll wake the baby."

Hannah suddenly remembered where she was and composed herself. Miriam went back into the cave and her mother followed on behind her.

"Your father is going to be up here soon," Hannah said to her. "Once he's settled this matter with Benjamin."

"Wait, what?" Miriam asked. "But I'm still unclean."

"Please, little bird," Hannah scoffed. "You mustn't worry about that. I went through the same process with you: only I was unclean for over two months after you were born!"

There was a sigh of relief from the older woman as Miriam made her way over to the trough. She leaned down and lifted up the little baby out of the manger and held Him in her arms, rocking Him with a gentle up and down motion. Hannah's expression softened from concern to joy as she saw the little sleeping baby stretching His arms and yawning with His mouth: she was smiling widely and the tears poured down her cheeks yet again. She felt young, as she had not felt since she held Miriam in her arms when she was a baby herself.

"Look, Joshua," Miriam said to the baby, a smile on her face. "It's grand-mama Hannah." Hannah smiled, strange to hear that word now being used to describe her.

"Do you want to hold Him, Mama?" Miriam asked.

Hannah nodded and held out her hands. Miriam reached out and placed her firstborn into the arms of her mother. Hannah gently rocked the child back and forth in her arms, beaming back at the little sleeping baby.

"Joshua?" Hannah asked. "There's no one in our family with that name. Why not name Him after your uncle Simeon? Or after Joseph or his father?"

"That was the name the angel told me to give Him," Miriam replied. Just then, baby Joshua babbled and wiggled His arms about. "Oh, I know that look, He wants to be fed. Let me have Him." Hannah handed Joshua back to His mother, who pulled down the neck of her dress and offered herself to the child; as soon as the child felt His mother's flesh against His cheek, He latched onto her and gripped her robe with His tiny fist.

After twenty minutes of nursing, Miriam concealed herself and continued rocking Joshua to sleep. Hannah, meanwhile, walked about the cave, busying herself with helping her daughter with what served as her dwelling and place of confinement. As she did, she imparted some motherly advice that Miriam would need after giving birth. Miriam listened intently, paying close attention to everything she was told: she wanted to know what to expect for the remainder of her separation period. More so, she wanted to learn any helpful bit of information - no matter how small - that might be needed in the days to come.

It dawned on her that Joseph would likely be wanting children of his own ere long.

So the day carried on. Close to evening, baby Joshua was lying asleep in the trough, while Miriam and Hannah finished the preparations for the evening meal. Joachim and Joseph appeared at the mouth of the cave; the old man seemed to have calmed down from how Hannah had described his reactions from earlier that day. Joseph was exhausted but bore an optimistic expression on his face.

"We have good news," Joseph said.

"We've arranged for a house for you," Joachim added. "It's small, but it's a far cry from this filthy sheep's cote."

"Praise be!" Hannah exclaimed.

"But how will we afford it?" Miriam asked.

"We have a few shekels to spare," Joachim answered. "Only enough for the first month. Consider this a gift to you, my daughter, on the birth of your son."

"No, Papa," Miriam replied. "I cannot accept this."

"Please," Joachim returned, a hint of insistence in his voice.

"You need the money more than we do," Miriam said.

"Don't be foolish, child!" Joachim stated firmly. "We're old, your mother and I. You have a husband and child to take care of."

"Very well," Miriam sighed. "Thank you, Papa."

"This will be enough, I believe," Joseph said, with a smile on his face. "I was planning on staying for the dedication. Besides," He turned to Miriam. "There's bound to be enough work in Bethlehem for a carpenter. We'll be fine."

* * *

That day ended and the Sabbath began. Hannah and the two men went to the synagogue and then returned to the cave to Miriam and the baby. The very next day, being Yom Rishon, they made their preparations to move them into their rented house. Joseph and Joachim piled what few goods the young couple had for themselves onto the back of the donkey and led it down out of the hills and into the town: Benjamin hadn't sold or mistreated their donkey in the ten days since their arrival. Meanwhile, Miriam scooped up baby Joshua into her arms and together with her mother followed on behind.

The little house was a little smaller than the house that Joseph had back in Nazareth. White adobe walls surrounded a floor of bare earth, with a roof made of wood; there was only one floor, so the donkey would have to stay inside with them. There was only one sleeping mat for the both of them, but Miriam would have to sleep on the floor, as she was still in her blood and therefore unclean. Joseph said that he could build a cradle for Joshua, which Miriam accepted graciously: though she was attached to her little baby, she was still human and her arms became tired from holding Him for hours on end.

Once they were settled in, Joachim and Hannah bade them goodbye. They had only come for the census, and having completed their obligation to Rome, only stayed to see how Joseph and Miriam were doing. As it was, they would now return to Nazareth. Miriam noticed that her father seemed to be in better spirits than she had left him; for this she thanked the God of her fathers. He embraced his daughter tearfully and said:

"Would to _HaShem_ that you were coming back to Nazareth with us now."

Hannah was all tears at the parting from her daughter, and Miriam found herself tearing quietly as well for both of them. The grandmother kissed her daughter once on each cheek, then kissed Joshua on the forehead, before joining her husband on the long journey by foot back to Nazareth. It was Yom Sheni; the eleventh day from Joshua's birth and the day after the Yom Rishon when they left the cave and entered their rented house.

If Joseph had believed that it would be easy to find work in Bethlehem, he was sorely mistaken. Most people promptly turned him down as soon as they heard who he was; and what little work he was able to get never seemed to be enough. He was suspicious of Benjamin, whom he believed had spoken of the events of the past several days and had so damaged his reputation. He would have to work even harder to support the little family as well as to earn back the trust of his relatives and the people of Bethlehem.

As for Miriam, she remained at the house day in and day out; being a mother was a full-time occupation. Aside from the general maintenance of the house, she also cooked food for two, washed and cleaned up for three, and took care of baby Joshua; He meanwhile didn't do much else besides eat and sleep. It was hard work, and with work being hard to come by, they were not thriving by any means. But they were still healthy and Joseph wasn't lame, so they were not obliged to beg for food. Furthermore, Miriam's body started to rebound from the pregnancy. By and by the swelling of her stomach reduced and her body seemed, outwardly at least, similar to how it was beforehand. She didn't bleed as much as before, but there were still intermittent moments of blood. Hannah had told her that this was to be expected; she was grateful for the forty days of separation, so as to not cause a scene with an accidental showing of blood.

* * *

The third Yom Shishi since Joshua's birth dawned, marking the fifteenth day of His young life. Another Sabbath came afterward, marking the official end of the week. Fifteen days then became two and twenty when the fourth Yom Shishi dawned on Bethlehem; then nine and twenty days, followed by three times twelve days. The next week then came; the third day of the week, dedicated to Mars by the Romans by designated as Yom Shlishi by the people of Israel. It was a very important day for the young couple, for this was the fortieth day of Joshua's young life and the conclusion of Miriam's days of separation.

The day before, Miriam was busy with cleaning her clothes and those of Joseph for the trip to Jerusalem tomorrow: must look their best when they came before the Holy Temple. Furthermore, the whole of tomorrow would be spent on the road, in the city, and on the road back to Bethlehem; so not only did they need clean clothes to wear, but food for their journey as well. Joseph had made a little basket, which would be bound to Miriam's back with cords; into this they would place Joshua, so that Miriam might walk the long journey to Jerusalem with Joshua on her back and not weary herself. As for Joseph, he had managed to save a few shekels to cover the cost of the pigeons.

Early in the morning on Yom Shlishi, they said the shema and ate breakfast; then Joseph strapped the basket to Miriam's back, into which he put baby Joshua, then together they walked out of the little house and closed the doors on behind them. Then they went on their way down the long, dusty road that would lead them to Jerusalem, following the same one they had taken some two score and two days ago when they came down this way from Nazareth by way of the Holy City.

As the sun was on its way to noon, they found themselves approaching the southernmost walls of the Holy City. The path they were taking seemed to take less time now than when they had journeyed it beforehand. As they made their way down the path towards the Essene Gate, they came downwind of the GeiBen Hinnom. Here they covered their faces and Miriam took Joshua off her back and buried His face in her bosom, that He smell not the loathsome stench of that place. They made haste to enter into the city and leave the foul smelling valley behind them. At length they reached the Essene Gate and entered the city. As before, they followed the aqueducts from the southern end of the city, through the narrow streets of the Tyrropoeon Valley, and up at last to the sacred place atop Moriah: the Holy Temple.

The Second Temple was after this fashion. From the south one passed through the Huldah Gates, named after the prophetess of old. This entered upon Solomon's Porch, what was also commonly known as the Court of the Gentiles. Beyond this wide plaza, at the top of the hill, no one who was not of the House of Israel could pass into the Temple grounds. On the eastern side of this court, the Beautiful Gate led the way into the Holy precinct. Upon the walls and around the door were written in Greek letters, that all might read, these words:

 _Let no foreigner enter within the parapet and the partition which surrounds the Temple precincts. Anyone caught will be held accountable for his ensuing death._

Beyond the Beautiful Gate, there opened the Court of the Women, the outermost court of the Holy Temple. Here Israelite women and children under the age of twelve were permitted to approach, but no further. This outer court was divided on each corner by separate chambers, each of them colonnaded on all sides. Beyond this was a staircase which went through the Nicanor Gate, and into the main courtyard before the Temple itself.

This was not how God had planned for His meeting place on Earth. The instructions for the Tabernacle, given down to Moses so long ago, had only one courtyard separating the common folk from the Holy Place.

* * *

Through the Huldah Gates and into the Court of the Gentiles passed Miriam and Joseph. Here the pavement was filthy with dust and animal droppings, and there were small shops and stalls here and there, crowding up the court and filling it with noise. All manner of commerce was done here on the footsteps to the Holy Temple. Men haggled for prices over lambs, cattle, goats, and birds, while at small wooden tables, learned men counted out Greek drachmas or Roman denarii and exchanged them for the Tyrian shekels. Joseph went towards one of the bird vendors and, after a bit of haggling, exchanged his shekel for a small wooden cage with two pigeons. They now made their way towards the postern gate on the southeastern side of the dividing wall beyond which the Gentiles could not pass; this one was used by the general traffic of people in and out of the Temple.

Into the Court of the Women they walked. Here they saw a great multitude of people, old and young, male and female, moving about here and there. There were some in a small circle around two young men, one with a drum and another with a flute, who played a mournful tune. Another group sat on their knees, with their veils covering their heads, hands lifted up, singing catches of the Psalms of David the King. A group of men, all of them long-haired and bearded, made their way towards the colonnaded chamber directly right of the entrance through which Miriam and Joseph had come: these likely had fulfilled the Nazirite vow and were on their way to have their hair shaven. At the far end and to the left-hand corner of the outer court, there lurked several men with faces bound and shrouded, who bowed and prayed apart from the others: lepers who had for themselves a court of their own near to the Temple. In another group, several bearded men - between the ages of forty and seventy - were dancing about while one struck a tambourine to keep time.

Through this they made their way, coming towards the Nicanor Gate, where two other courts - the Court of Men and the Court of the Priests - awaited before the main courtyard of the Temple. Near the Nicanor Gate, Joseph was obliged to leave Miriam as he went into the Court of Men to seek out a priest for the dedication. She did not have to wait long; in short time, Joseph made his way back in the Court of the Women with a priest behind him. The priest called for one of the younger priests to take the pigeon cage while he held his hands in the votive gesture over Joshua in Miriam's arms: the noise from the Court of the Gentiles had woken Him up and His eyelids slid open, allowing His dark brown eyes to examine His surroundings.

While the priest gave the blessing, Miriam's keen eyes noticed a strange figure behind him. An old man in the garments of a priest seemed to be standing within the shadow of the Nicanor Gate, just beneath the archway. He was very old, with a long, forked beard that was turning from gray to white; he looked older than Joachim, Zechariah, and rabbi Judah, so much so that Miriam doubted not that he may even have mentored the two rabbis when they themselves were young men. For the present, the old priest didn't do anything but look in their direction periodically before looking upward.

Once the dedication ceremony was complete, Joseph and Miriam turned as though they would leave the Temple, their business concluded. But even as they made their way back towards the gate they came through by, the old priest walked out after them with a speed surprising for one so old.

"Peace be with you!" the old man said. "I beg only for a moment of your time."

"Greetings, rabbi," Joseph returned. "Is there something you need?"

"Your pardon, man," the old man said to Joseph. "My name is Simeon. I was told to come to this spot and see the child who is the consolation of Israel."

"Who told you to come here?" Joseph asked.

"The _Ruach HaKodesh_ ," Simeon replied. He then turned to Miriam, his old hands trembling as he dared to speak. "May I see the child?"

Joseph looked at Miriam with a look of surprise on his face as she nodded and handed baby Joshua into Simeon's old, gnarled hands. A smile appeared on old Simeon's face as he held up Joshua towards the heavens.

" _HaShem_ , God of our fathers!" Simeon said. "Behold thy Messiah! Your servant lifts up to You Your Anointed One, in whom Your soul delighteth. Blessed be _HaShem_ , the maker of Heaven and earth, and the giver of life to those that walk upon the earth; for Thou has called Thy servant in righteousness, to hold His Hand, and keep Him, and give Him unto Thy people for a covenant!"

"Amen," Joseph and Miriam said respectfully, though they were astonished to hear such things.

Simeon lowered his arms, and even as he did, one of Joshua's little hands reached out and patted the old man's beard. It was more than the dear old man could bear. The springs of his head were loosed and tears fell down his wrinkled cheeks and into his long gray-white beard.

"O _HaShem_ ," Simeon wept. "Thou who has given the breath of life unto those that walk upon this earth, it is enough! Thou has promised with Thine own Spirit that Thy servant should not taste death until he has seen with his own eyes Thy salvation. Now may Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy Word; for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people. A light for the Gentiles and the glory of Thy people Israel!"

With trembling hands, Simeon handed Joshua back to Miriam. Then he held up his hands in the votive gesture over both Miriam and Joseph and said: "May _HaShem_ bless and keep thee. May _HaShem_ make His face to shine upon thee. May _HaShem_ left up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace."

"Amen," Joseph and Miriam respectfully said, still in stunned awe.

But no sooner had he said this, but Simeon went over towards the southern gate of the women, opposite that gate which they had entered into the Court of the Women. He then appeared again, but this time behind him was another one as old and weathered as himself; a woman whose thin, gray hair was hidden beneath her shawl.

"Come, Hannah bat-Phanuel!" Simeon said, laughing and crying. "Come, good woman! See the salvation of _HaShem_!"

The old woman approached Miriam and Joseph with glee written upon her old face. Perhaps it was her own experience that made her more open, or perhaps it was from hearing this old woman's name - for she bore the name of Miriam's own mother. nevertheless, there seemed to be a wordless understanding between them as soon as their dark eyes met: she wanted to see Joshua. Miriam held her arms out to present baby Joshua to the old woman.

"Behold the salvation of Israel!" Hannah said. "The Anointed One has come to Jerusalem! O give thanks to _HaShem_ , for He is good; His mercy endureth forever!" She placed a slender, wrinkled hand over the baby Joshua and smiled at His tiny, squished face. Then she looked at Miriam: "Blessed art thou among women."

Miriam thanked the old woman, who then picked up the sides of her skirt and ran toward the group of dancing men and asked them if they sought the Messiah, the promised redeemer of Israel. In that tumult, Miriam turned to Joseph, with a look of panic in her eyes. Joseph nodded, understanding what she meant: this would attract unwanted attention. Straightway they repaired to the gate through which they had come. But even as they were leaving, Simeon came after them.

"Gentle mother," he said to Miriam. "A word of warning before you go."

"Yes, rabbi?" Miriam asked, turning around to the old man, Joshua lying in her arms.

"This child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel," Simeon said to Miriam, the joy fading from his voice; he now spoke in grave seriousness. "Lo, He is a sign that shall be rejected by many; yea, that the thoughts of the hearts of many may be revealed, a sword shall piece through thy soul."

Miriam gasped; with one hand she covered her gaping mouth, and with the other she held Joshua closer to her bosom, as if she could protect Him from this fate. Simeon said no more, but turned and went his way. Meanwhile, Miriam turned after Joseph, who was already out of the gate by the time he noticed that she was not following him; he stopped and waited for her to appear.

"What was that about?" he asked.

She shook her head, choosing rather not to talk about it. They had a long road back to Bethlehem before them, and there were troubles enough to worry about once they got back to the house. But as she thought on what she had heard, as she had done for the past ten months, ever since Gabriel appeared to her that morning in Nazareth, the more confused she became. Was not the Messiah to reign forever? What could possibly happen that would be so traumatic as to pierce through her soul as a sword?

* * *

 **(AN: This was one of the longer chapters, but there was a good reason for it being that long. I wanted to make sure that we covered all of our bases, including making it to forty days before the Temple incident. I did some research into the Second Temple in order to depict it accurately, and even mentioned the soreg stone.)**


	13. An Audience With the King

**(AN: Now our other three characters re-enter the main story.)**

* * *

 **An Audience with the King**

Many long months had they spent in preparation; for so long and important a journey, they could not afford to undertake lightly. The others were not so eager to believe what Melchior had read from the Book of Daniel; obstinately they clung to the tradition of the Jews that no prophet of the Highest came after the destruction of Solomon's Temple, and so dismissed his findings as immaterial. Some of the nobler ones promised to return to their lands and spread the truth of the High and Eternal God, but would not commit time and money to a journey westward.

Only Gaspar and Balthazar were willing both to contribute money and time for this journey. No expense was spared; not only did they travel with luxurious gifts, they themselves were wealthy and important men who might fetch a high ransom from some enterprising ruffian. They brought a lightly-armed escort with them, as well as a skeleton staff of servants; only such as knew the languages spoken in Israel and could therefore communicate with the locals. On top of this, they brought with them water-skins for the long and scorching journey across the wilderness, and such food that would keep on such a journey: dried dates, dried figs, and hard bread.

Even once the preparations were completed, Melchior insisted that they wait a little longer. He reasoned that the Anointed One would be easier to find one He was newly born and recognized by the elders of Israel. By his reasoning, the Anointed would be in Jerusalem, where He would be under the care and protection of the Sanhedrin, the seventy leading elders of Israel. He told the other two also that time meant nothing, for it had been centuries since the prophecies had last been spoken, and the Highest was beyond all reckoning of time. They had spent years in prayer before they came to Persepolis, having seen the star in their own countries; what was a few months anyway?

At last the day came. They all set out from Persepolis, making their way into the desert, following the star. Every night, as their servants set up camp, they would bring out their instruments and study the heavens. In the desert, the stars burned brighter during the night than in any city. This gave them an accurate reading of the night sky, and with this they plotted their course: every night they took a reading and adjusted their course accordingly, and every morning they looked again for the star and set their course by it again. For centuries beyond count, the ancients had made their journeys by the stars of the heavens. Now these wise men did as their spiritual ancestors had done, only now they sought the physical revelation of the Highest's Chosen One rather than a spiritual prognostication.

So they journeyed for many long months, following the star. When they made camp, before they settled down for sleep, the wise men led their servants in prayer to the Highest One that He speed them on their way and bring them in safety to their destination. For many days, there seemed to be no end in sight to the long and oppressive desert: nothing but sand and rock underfoot, and bare, rocky mountains rising up before, behind, and around them. They ate sparingly of their supplies, for they had to last them as far as Damascus. For this was their plan: as far as they could tell, the star pointed due west. However, the most direct route would lead them across the northern arm of the Arabian Desert. Rather than go through the desert needlessly, it was decided by all that they would strike the caravan path that ran parallel to the Euphrates River and follow the Fertile Crescent northwestward, then enter Judaea by way of Damascus and so come to Jerusalem from the north.

One day the desert gave way to the lush and fertile land of the two rivers of Babylon. They paid several ferrymen rather exorbitant fees to cross to the western bank of the Euphrates; obviously the ferrymen guessed that they were wealthy and so charged them higher rates than normal. But since they were in haste and had brought money enough, they paid whatever was charged without negotiation. Once they reached the farther shore, they mounted their camels and continued on their journey; now, however, they were in better spirits and climate than previously. They could stop at wells to take water for themselves, their camels, and their servants, and so they were not so desperate in their search for water.

Days went on and on as they followed the Euphrates River on its western shores. At length they left the river and betook themselves once again into the desert. There was less time to cross the desert here than farther east, and so they came to Damascus in good time. From here they made their way southward towards Jerusalem from the north. They were not Jews and so had no qualms about crossing through Samaria on their way to Jerusalem. This also made their journey faster and easier, as they would not have to worry about the Wadi Qelt, or the Pharan as the Jews called it. That dangerous valley would certainly invite disaster for the caravan laden with gold and incense. Though they were lightly armed, they chose rather to avoid danger by going directly south instead of taking the Jericho route.

* * *

One fine morning, bright and early, a commotion was caused in the City of David. From the north, a caravan had come down from the Fish Gate and came into the Court of the Gentiles in the Temple. Caravans were no new thing, for many people came to and went from the Holy City; but this caravan was not of traders. Wealthy magicians, counselors of mighty kings, went up and down through the city streets, led by servants who spoke the Greek and Aramaic languages. What they said was the cause of the commotion; no commoner would dare ask the questions they had asked, and even the most insulated and well-connected of the richest of the rich would hesitate.

Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthazar were bemused and rather disappointed. When they entered the city of Jerusalem, they believed to find it full of rejoicing: songs of praise to the Highest upon every lip, and the streets filled with dancing women and children. Instead, what they found was a city that was going on about its business, like any other city. No hosannas were being sung, no one was dancing, no hymns of praise were heard. For the long time of their walk through the Tyropoeon Valley to the Huldah Gates of the Holy Temple, Melchior could not meet the gaze of his companions. In his heart, as well as his own, there entered this great fear: _What if we were wrong? What if the Anointed One hadn't come yet? What if he He had come but was in another town? What if He was dead? What if we had put our hope in something that just wasn't so?_

To allay his fears, Melchior led them to the Temple. Surely the religious leaders of Israel would know where the Anointed was, if they had made a mistake in their calculations. They came to the Court of the Gentiles, the nearest to the Temple precinct where they were permitted to go. Leading their camels were servants who spoke the language of Judaea, and to them they gave the command to cry out with a loud voice:

"Where is He who is born King of the Jews? We have seen His star in the east and have come to worship Him."

But there was no answer. The people knew nothing, the elders knew nothing. Business in the Court of the Gentiles continued, with the buying and selling of sacrificial animals and the exchange of money, with only a brief notice of the newcomers. But they had not gone wholly unnoticed. Word soon spread from the Temple precinct on Mount Moriah to the Upper City on Mount Zion. Within an hour, a company of Herod's soldiers marched across the width of the city and entered the Court of the Gentiles. Their arrival was noticed by the wise men, who ordered their men to stand down and not draw their weapons. The captain of the company pointed to each of the wise men and addressed them in Greek:

"You will follow me."

Nothing else was said and the captain did not answer any question the wise men asked him. Instead, they permitted the soldiers to lead them out of the Temple precinct, down the hill into the narrow streets of the Tyropoeon Valley, and up against onto Mount Zion. Here, upon Mount Zion, were the largest homes of the wealthiest people in Jerusalem. These were built of white stone and some even had floors of paved stone or mosaic tiles, rather than dirt or straw. These houses did not smell of animal droppings or filthy excrement, for servants daily cleaned these dwellings and sent the offal down to Gehenna on the southern side of the city outside the walls.

The guards led them to a palatial estate on the westernmost wall of the city. Here the wise men were ordered to dismount from their camels; after doing so, their servants and the laden camels were sent to a separate place to wait for them while they were led into the palace. Rather than sent directly into the main audience chamber, the captain of the guard led them to a side room: here they waited, with guards on the outside of the room near the doors, which also were shut and locked. When at last the doors were sealed, the wise men spoke to each other in hushed tones, each using the Farsi language of Persia, which they hoped would be unknown to these Nabateans.

"I fear we have come to the end of our journey," Balthazar said, after minutes of long silence.

"Have faith, my brother," Melchior replied, though he felt the same fear himself. "The Highest has not yet abandoned us."

"Only His power could save us now," Gaspar added. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the palace of King Herod." They gasped in awe and terror at the name.

"Is it true what they say about him?" Balthazar asked. "That he has killed his own wives and children?"

"I have heard this, and many things besides," Melchior replied. "But remember, both of you: we are wise men. If anyone knows how to please the humors of royalty and get away with our lives, it is us."

"Perhaps it is best if we tell him the truth," Gaspar returned. "Who knows but that he could help us with our search."

"He would be of no help to us," Balthazar returned. "Why would a man who calls himself 'King of the Jews' be eager to let his supplanter live under his nose?"

"My brothers, please," Melchior begged. "We must not let fear master us."

"Nor should we be speaking so freely," Gaspar hissed. "Doubtless he has spies listening to us who know our tongue. If he hears that we speak ill of him, he will surely put us to death."

At that moment there was a sound of shuffling outside the door and a voice speaking in Aramaic just beyond. The door was opened and a middle-aged man with a dark beard, dressed in rich robes, entered the room.

"Greetings, honored guests," the man said to them, speaking in Greek. "I am Chuzah, servant of the great King Herod. I am here to escort you to the King's audience chamber."

The three wise men rose to their feet and followed Chuzah out of the room and past the two guards. Down several corridors, lit with torches, the small group walked. They came at last to a pair of great wooden doors, guarded by many soldiers on all sides. Chuzah disappeared into the doors for a brief moment, then came back out and addressed the wise men in hushed tones.

"His Majesty will see you now," he said. The guards opened the doors and one by one the three men entered the audience hall.

The chamber was well-decorated and lit with candles and torches, as well as a brazier or two for warmth. The three wise men saw that they were the only ones in the room; not even the guards who would usually attend the king were present. Their eyes lifted up to the throne atop its dias; there an old man in rich robes sat, with a golden crown upon his head. Even from afar, they could sense a great presence pinning them down from a great distance. At last the old king spoke, his voice deep and measured.

"Welcome, strangers from the east, to my city," he said.

"Great King," Melchior said, bowing low and gesturing for Balthazar and Gaspar to do the same. "You do your servants a great honor by this meeting. Few could ask for the attention of the King, with so many great burdens upon his shoulder, and you have given us your attention above all the loyal servants of your kingdom."

"Your flattery is noted," said the old king. "I will dispense with the posturing and decorum for the present. It has been brought to my attention that you entered into the court of my Temple and asked questions about 'one that is born King of the Jews'?"

"Your Majesty has heard well," Melchior replied.

"Surely you must know that such words are dangerous," the king said. "A king cannot afford to have his loyalty questioned or challenged in any way."

"It is as you have said, Your Majesty," Gaspar stated.

"But please, Your Majesty," Balthazar interjected. "We do not mean to challenge your authority; no, we have only come in search of the One that was spoken of by the prophets and sages of blessed memory."

There was a tense silence in the hall. At length, the king commanded that they approach the throne. From here they could see him more readily: the curls of his hair and his beard were streaked with gray, and beneath his crown his eyes were lined with kohl. Yet even here they could feel the intense, piercing gaze of those dark brown eyes as they examined them. At length he spoke, but when he did, they felt a strange dissonance between his words and the look of those eyes.

"You have no cause to fear me," the king began. "I am a Jew and have obeyed the Law for my whole life, and have read the prophets. They speak of the coming of the Anointed One, and so there is truth in your words. I have conferred with the scribes and the priests of the Law, who have told me that the prophet Micah foretold of His coming from the town of Bethlehem."

"Your Majesty," Balthazar stated. "We have naught to say on this matter; only that we have followed the star these many months, which has led us to this city."

"Indeed?" the old king asked, leaning in towards the wise men intently. "Throughout the history of my people, the fate of patriarchs and kings has been written in the stars. It would be folly to ignore the witness of this star. Tell me, do you believe that the star will lead you to the Anointed One?"

"It is as you have said, Your Majesty," Melchior stated.

"When did you first see this star?" asked the king.

"Your Majesty," Gaspar said. "Your servants first saw the star some eighteen months ago."

The old king leaned back, stroked his beard in silence and then at last spoke. "If this star is a sign of the birth of the Anointed One, then that would mean He is between one and two years of age now." The old king then leaned forward again. "I will have Chuzah prepare rooms for you this night: at dawn, you shall depart from the city and search diligently for the young child. When you have found Him, return here and bring me word, so that I may come and worship Him also."

The wise men bowed and made their way out of the throne room. They returned to the side room where they had been and awaited the arrival of Chuzah, who after some time led them into their own state rooms. Here they rested from the long and perilous journey they had undergone. That evening, they were too weary to search the night sky for the star and so they went to bed immediately after they had eaten and said their own silent prayers.

* * *

Each one of them rose up from their sleep an hour after midnight. Each of them had seen a dream in one form or another; but they dared not share that dream openly. They knew enough that the palace servants that attended to their needs were listening and reporting all of what passed between them to the king. Instead they returned to bed and made sure that they would tell each other this once they were out of the city. By morning light, they were dressed and ate breakfast, then they asked the servants what had become of their own camels and servants. To their amazement, they were being kept in another part of the palace and their belongings hadn't been confiscated.

They went at once and had their own servants ready their camels for departure. At last, when everything was said and done, they left the king's palace and went out of the city by way of the Essene Gate to the south. They might have learned the location of Bethlehem sooner, had they been wary of being watched. It was a certainty that they would be marked going southward on the road to Bethlehem, and so they did not immediately head thither. Instead they searched the country this way and that, going about as if wandering all day.

In truth, there was more than one reason for this behavior. Not only were they attempting to throw off pursuit, but they were doubtful themselves. The star's light seemed to be growing faint during the day and the lack of excitement and regard from the people of Jerusalem made them feel that perhaps they had been wrong. Where was the star? Where was their hope, the sign of their consolation? Had they followed naught but a phantom? If they could see the star again, shining somewhere, anywhere, then they knew they would find the Anointed One. So they sought this way and that, scanning the bright, blue skies of day for the sign of the star. All through the day they saw no sight of it, even as the sun started to go down into the western sky.

As evening was coming upon them and they readied themselves to make camp, Gaspar turned his eyes away from the west, away from Jerusalem in the north, and into the south. For a moment he could not speak, his joy was so great that he could only weep. At last the chains upon his tongue were loosed and he cried out to the others, waving his hands and pointing into the sky.

"Look!" he said. "Look into the southern sky! The star! Lo, it appears once more!"

One by one, Melchior and Balthazar hurried over to Gaspar's side, and looked where he pointed. At once their faces lit up as they saw the same thing they had seen so many months ago low in the night sky in Persepolis. A star, burning brighter than all the rest: but now it was nearer than when they had first seen it, and its light shone brighter than before. The Almighty had not abandoned them, and their hope, they knew for certain, was not in vain.

* * *

 **(AN: This chapter turned out shorter than I thought it would be.)**

 **(Now let us talk a measure about Herod. I did a bit of research on him before writing this chapter. Rather than make him a rambling madman, he appears first outwardly reserved, if a little intense: surely someone who had killed members of his own family, and is diagnosed by the know-it-all scholars of modernity as suffering from depression and paranoia, would behave themselves with caution and not as a raving lunatic. Of course you will get to see him in his wrath later on, but for now he plays the part of the smiling devil: masking his evil with deceit.)**

 **(The part about the specific time for when the star was seen comes from some extrapolation on my part based on the events of the second chapter of Matthew's gospel. It had to have been at least two years, which is why Herod has that as his cut-off age for...well, what is to come. And eighteen months is just fine, since, according to Jewish reckoning, any additional time after one whole day [or year] counts as a whole day or year [same thing with the Resurrection].)**


	14. Adoration

**(AN: We're almost done with this little story. Only one more chapter to go and we'll call it a day.)**

 **(Yet again I have used some Hebrew in this chapter. The translation is as follows: 'line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little there a little.' It is from the book of Isaiah, and has been used frequently by my family, though they don't understand that it's baby-talk. They use it to "refute" the commonly held practice of cherry-picking Bible verses to suit one's own tastes, even though the translated words seem to support cherry-picking. But in the context of the verse, it's more of a punishment than a rule of thumb.)**

* * *

 **Adoration**

It had been several months since the dedication ceremony. Miriam and Joseph returned to Bethlehem and there lived rather quietly for the next several months. The commotion caused by what had happened in Jerusalem in the Court of the Women gave them an incentive to maintain a low profile. This was especially true for Miriam, who was not overly fond of attention to herself. So their lives continued, with Joseph looking for work throughout Bethlehem, difficult though it may be, and Miriam taking care of their little rented house and little Joshua. Joshua was now several months old and much more active; in fact, His little brown eyes were now always open and taking in every little detail of their small house. His little arms moved about much more and when something would happen that amused Him, He would let out a most heart-warming laugh that gave both Miriam and even Joseph no end of happiness.

One evening in the little house, they were sitting down for dinner. Well, what passed for dinner in this little hovel that is. They sat at a very low table - one that Joseph had made himself - with a thread-bare rug between them and the dirt floor. Joseph was on the far side of the table, dipping pieces of flat bread into a warm stew, while Miriam was on the other side, leaning against the wall. She held Joshua in her arms, caressing His cheeks, touching the tip of His nose with her finger, and tickling the base of His neck, all the while muttering the catches of infantile talk that she had heard Elisabeth say to baby John.

" _Sav lasav, sav lasav_ ," she muttered. " _Kav lakav, kav lakav. Zeer sham, zeer sham._ " Joshua laughed and Miriam smiled down at Him.

"Beloved," Joseph spoke up.

"Hmm?" she returned, turning to him briefly.

"I've been thinking about something," he began. "And, well, I think it's as good a time as any to talk about it. Well, one of the reasons I approached your father with the proposal, was that I had hoped to raise children after my family's name."

"I know," Miriam nodded.

"I kept to my own bed when you were with child," Joseph said. "As it was not mine, it didn't seem right to share your bed while you were carrying."

"Thank you, beloved," Miriam returned.

"But, well, now that Joshua is born, your purification has come and gone, and you're still..." Joseph hesitated. "...after the manner of women, well, I was hoping if..."

"I know what you ask of me, beloved," Miriam said. "And I was hoping that we could wait until we returned to Nazareth before having more children. I don't want there to be any more problems concerning this."

"So you agree?" Joseph asked, an eager look upon his face. Miriam smiled.

"Yes, my love," she said. "I will give you children to your heart's content."

"Praise HaShem!" Joseph exclaimed, then suddenly excused himself. Joshua didn't seem to notice, or if He did, He did not cry out from the loud noise. "And, HaShem willing, the first will be a son; to bear my father's name. And many more sons to follow."

Miriam chuckled. "I hope there's enough names to give them all."

"We can name the next one after me," Joseph added.

"Then how will I tell you apart?" Miriam asked. "I will say 'Joseph, come in from the workshop: it is time to eat' and both of you will come at the same time!"

Joseph smiled. "What about Simeon? After the High Priest, or that old man we saw in the Temple." Miriam's smile faded as her mind went back to the dark portents that old Simeon had spoken of. "Or what about Judah, hmm? That's a good name, right? A nice common name, to show our heritage to the House of Judah." Miriam nodded. There was silence and Joshua babbled for a moment and Miriam uttered a soft "Sav lasav" and stroked His cheek.

"Beloved," she spoke to Joseph. "May I ask you something?" He grunted in approval. "How do you feel about what's happened to us this past year?"

Joseph seemed taken aback. It seemed an odd question to ask, as men were not often given to talking of their feelings. And most certainly a man of means such as Joseph would not be familiar with such questions. But, seeing the longing look in his love's dark eyes, he finally opened his heart to her.

"I've never given it much thought," he said. "I suppose I feel...a strange sort of closeness to HaShem. That night in the cave, the night Joshua was born, I wasn't afraid of calling Him the God of my fathers."

"I know," Miriam returned. "I feel the same kind of closeness myself." She smiled, realizing that she was indeed holding the son of the Most High: her Son. She turned back to Joseph. "What else?"

Joseph shrugged. "I suppose...a strong sense of duty. Not merely to you, beloved, but to Him. We have been blessed with the Messiah; it is my duty, as your husband and..." His brow furrowed and his smile faded.

"Go on, please," Miriam gently urged.

"...as a kind of father to Him, though not after the natural way," Joseph stated. "It is my duty to protect both of you."

"Thank you, beloved," Miriam said with a smile. "I am very grateful to you for this."

They finished their meal, and afterward Miriam began the process of cleaning up while Joseph readied himself for bed. According to tradition, Joseph alone had to say the shema for his small family; this he would be doing, looking towards Jerusalem, as was the custom. But even as he opened the window to look north, they noticed a strange light outside the house. It looked as though the moon was out, but it could not be seen from where they looked. Furthermore, Joseph noticed something else happening outside the house; the sounds of camels and people talking in a strange tongue.

"What's happening?" Miriam asked.

"There's a caravan outside," Joseph replied. "At least, it looks like a caravan. They must be wanting directions." Joseph walked over to the door of the house and took his staff in hand, then looked outside the door through a space between the wooden boards. From what he could see, the caravan was dismounting right outside the house. With staff in hand, Joseph opened the door and placed himself between the entrance and the caravan. As soon as he was seen, one of the caravan's attendants left the tending of the camel and approached him.

"Greetings to you," the man said, speaking in Aramaic: the second most widely circulated language in the region of and around the Land of Israel. "My masters have come from distant lands, seeking the One who is born King of the Jews."

Instinctively, Joseph's grip tightened upon the staff. He noticed that the attendant had a knife upon his belt, and likely the other attendants were also armed. Though he may have reach over on them with his staff, it would only take one of them to get in close enough to make his staff useless against their knives. Flight was impossible and there was no hope of fighting if their intent was to take the child by force.

"You must be strangers to these lands," he answered, trying at least to remain cordial for as long as possible. "It isn't safe to speak of such things openly."

"You may speak freely, man," the servant replied. "There are none here but my masters, the other servants, and us."

"And who are your masters?" Joseph asked.

"Counselors of kings from far away lands," the servant replied. "We come in peace, there is no need to fear."

"You say you seek a king. But Caesar rules the world, and this land is ruled by Herod. There is nothing here for you."

"Your pardon, the servant continued. "But my masters do not come seeking Caesar or Herod. The One we seek has been heralded by the star that rests in the sky above your home. My masters would see the child within."

"Joseph?" Miriam asked from within. "What's going on out there? It's almost time for Him to sleep."

Joseph sighed inside. If he had hoped to turn them away, there was no chance of that happening now.

"Strangers from a faraway land are seeking the Messiah," he told her.

"Let them in, beloved," Miriam stated.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, beloved. It's alright."

Joseph stepped aside from the door, gesturing with his hand inside for those without to enter. The servant ran back and spoke hurriedly to his masters. As soon as the three wise men approached the house, Joseph was stunned into shock. He had never seen royalty, not even so much as the High Priest or the seventy elders of the Sanhedrin, and he thought that he would never have that opportunity. Yet in this moment he saw how nobility carried themselves: with heads held high and shoulders back, unwearied by toil or hard labor. They wore richly adorned clothes - though never anything in purple, as only kings could wear purple - and had shoes upon their feet rather than sandals. In the light of the torches that the other servants held, Joseph could see the first servant going back to the camels and whispering orders to the others.

The three magi entered the house, uttering a greeting in their own language to Joseph; he nodded at them in return, not entirely sure what was happening before him. One by one they entered the house, arraying themselves on one side of the room. Miriam stood on the other side, with Joshua in her arms. With a smile on her face, she presented the little baby in her arms to the wise men. To the surprise of both of them, but most especially Joseph, the three men, in their fabulous robes, fell to their knees on the bare-beaten dirt floor and bowed their crowned heads to the ground. Miriam was about to beg them to rise, but she doubted that they could understand her; then into her mind came another thought, a humbling thought that drove out all thoughts of possession towards the little child within her arms.

 _This child is a miracle,_ the thought said. _The Son of God; it is to Him that they bow._

Yet even as the child that was within her arms was a miracle, foretold by the prophets of old that He would bring miracles with Him, another such miracle happened. Perhaps it was the Spirit of Holiness, the same Spirit that caused her and Elisabeth to prophesy, that now sought to perform those things which were told her from the Most High. Or perhaps, in this great auspicious moment, the tongues of the wise men were permitted to speak after a fashion that Miriam understood; or indeed, perhaps they spoke their own tongue and she heard it in her own language. But in any case, the voice of the wise men was heard speaking from where they knelt.

"Praise be to the Highest," said the eldest of them.

"Hail to the Son of the Highest," said another.

"Glory be to the Ruler of Heaven and Earth, who has brought this great miracle," the third spoke.

The eldest held out his hand towards the door. The servants outside saw this gesture and one by one they entered into the house: first came one bearing a small chest, made of fine wood and ornately decorated. This he placed opposite the eldest sage, at the feet of Miriam.

"Accept these meager tokens, on behalf of the King whom we honor this night," said the eldest. "Gold, a gift fit for a King." With that, the eldest bowed prostrate to the ground. The second servant approached and placed another small box to the right of the box; from its lid, Miriam could detect a faint, rich smell.

"This child is the Son of the Highest," the second sage spoke. "Therefore we offer incense to Him, as is the custom."

The last servant approached and placed a finely painted jar on the far right of the line of gifts. A wholesome, earthy smell eminated from the bottle: the fragrance of myrrh.

"Gentle mother," the last one spoke. "The prophets speak of this child enduring much suffering for the sake of His people. As surety for this, my gift is this small bottle of myrrh."

With these done, the servants departed, while the old men bowed three times to the ground and muttered "Praise to the Highest" each time. One by one they departed the house, giving blessings upon the child and His mother as they left. Joseph could only look on in awe: he would remember this story for the rest of his life. For surely here he was wide awake, not wearied by sleep as when the shepherds came, and it was a worthy thing. It was common knowledge that _HaShem_ gave good things to those who followed Him and blessed those who followed His Torah. Therefore it was, in Joseph's mind, a confirmation of the unique blessing of this child that these three kings had visited and worshiped Him.

* * *

As the men made their way back to their camels, they were filled with joy. They spoke no words to their servants, but praises to God in the Highest were upon their lips. They mounted their camels and, with their servants, began to make their way eastward. As they journeyed, and the cool of evening began to set in upon their joy, they talked among themselves.

"What shall we do now?" asked Gaspar. "Our journey is done, our errand is spent. We have found the Anointed One, we have worshiped Him with gifts and with words of praise. Shall we not now go back to Herod and bring him word, as we were commanded?"

"I do not think so, my friend," Melchior stated. "I spoke not of this while we were in Jerusalem, but I would bring to mind the dream I had the night before this one."

A stunned silence fell upon them all. "I dreamed a dream as well," Balthazar murmured in a reverential tone.

"In truth, a similar thing befell me as well," added Gaspar. "I had hoped that I was the only one and there would be no reason to speak up, but now I see that it is otherwise. Please, Melchior, tell us what you dreamed."

"A terrible truth was revealed to me, in the nightly hours upon my bed," said Melchior. "The true nature of this Herod was revealed, and his designs upon the child. The spirit of Ahriman lies heavily upon him." He turned first to Balthazar. "What about you?"

"It was a similar dream that I saw," Balthazar replied. "I stood upon the river-bank, when a Holy One appeared to me and said: 'Do not return to Herod, for wickedness is devised in his heart against the son of the Highest.'" All eyes now turned to Gaspar. "What do you think?"

For a moment, Gaspar seemed to be in deep thought. Once he saw that the others were looking at him, he cleared his throat. "I would have thought it was nothing...had I not heard both of your dreams first. What I saw in the night visions were of similar tone and tenor to what was revealed to you: surely the Highest is telling us not to return to Herod."

"Then why did you ask if we should return to him?" Balthazar asked.

"I had hoped," explained Gaspar. "That I alone had dreamed this dream and that it was nothing but worry. But now that I have heard the report of both of you, I cannot ignore the message of the Highest. We shall return to Persia and not inform Herod of what we have seen."

"But surely we must return and tell the Holy family what we have seen and heard," Balthazar suggested. "If these visions are true, then Herod may move against them."

"No, it is too dangerous," Melchior interjected. "Do you not remember when we left Jerusalem, how we did not share the dreams we had that evening aloud? Surely this king has spies everywhere, and they would have been following us. If we go back now, they will mark the place where the child is, and so bring about His swift demise."

"What if we took Him with us?" Balthazar asked. "Surely He would be safe in Persepolis, or even Savah, closer to the land of His nativity."

"No, no, no," Gaspar dismissed, shaking his head and waving his finger. "Who are we to take the Anointed One from His homeland and so defy the word of the prophets of the Highest? Melchior, does not Zardhost say that the Anointed will speak the truth to His people first?"

"Yes, it is so," Melchior nodded, his face grimly set as in stone. "Here now, brothers, is our terrible decision. We cannot go back and warn them, or else their dwelling will be marked. We cannot take Him with us or else incur the wrath of the Highest for circumventing His prophets. Therefore, my brother Gaspar, we shall do as you have said. We shall return to Persia and then quietly disperse to our own lands." He looked long and hard at each of them.

"And when we get there?" Gaspar asked.

"We shall not be silent on these things," Melchior said ominously.

And so the wise men urged their camels on, disappearing into the night like shadows; vanishing forever from the pages of history.

* * *

 **(AN: So here we conclude the penultimate chapter of this story.)**

 **(I read some rather interesting things about the wise men. For instance, the Christian churches in the east say that there were twelve wise men. That does seem to be rather appropriate [twelve tribes of Israel, twelve disciples, etc.], but I went for the smaller number because, well, tradition and smaller gifts. While Joshua certainly deserves ALL the gifts, it would make Miriam and Joseph a target for thieves if they went with camel-loads of gold, incense, and myrrh from twelve wise men! Also one [likely modern] tradition states that they were Zoroastrians: hence the reference here [and elsewhere] to Zardhost and Ahriman. If I ever get around to _Daniel and Esther: Stand Among Kings_ , I will give my take on the origins of what many consider to be the "originator" of Judaism.)**


	15. Exodus

**(AN: Here we have come to the final chapter of this story.** **Some thoughts on the "massacre of the innocents" before we begin. The Protoevangelion of James lists two separate massacres: one where they hide baby Joshua in the manger, and the second where they flee to Egypt: I go with only one. But said "infancy gospel"does give us an end for one secondary character who has appeared before [spoilers].)**

 **(As far as the historicity of this event, the Roman writer Macrobius [a pagan, and therefore one with no incentive to defend Christianity] recognized the massacre of the innocents as a historical event. Why it was never recorded outside of his _Saturnalia_ , James' and Matthew's Gospels is anyone's guess. It might be reading too much into biblical language on my part, but the Protoevangelion of James makes mention of "murderers", which could lead some credence to what I postulate in this story: that it was an under-the-table job that word of which sort of leaked out over time.)**

* * *

 **Exodus**

The old king Herod listened to the report from his spies, a grim look on his face as his dark eyes intently stared at a piece of the mosaic floor of his palace hall. He did not bother to look the soldier in the eye until he learned what was of interest to him. But, as the soldier's story continued, it seemed that he had found very little. Seven days had passed since the wise men had left Jerusalem, and they had not returned. More than this, scouts had seen a caravan departing eastward out of the land of Judah.

Herod turned to the soldier, not uttering a sound: his lips quivered in fury and his eyes stared at him, burning holes into him if they could have done so. Surely a king was entitled to roar, to rant, and to rave, if his plans were thus thwarted. But Herod was not a raving madman like Saul or a roaring lion like David; on suspicion of treason, he had ordered the deaths of his wife, brother-in-law, and several sons. Therefore he suspected every one of his courtiers, and even his family, of treachery and treason: a misspoken word could mean yet another conspiracy plotted against him. He hadn't come to power by letting his emotions master him, even in the most dire straits.

"They are gone?" he asked, his words measured but simmering with barely restrained wrath.

"Yes, your majesty," the soldier replied.

Stunned silence filled the palace hall. Nearby the king's throne stood Chuzah, his trusted servant; a tray was in his hand and the king's cup was upon it, bearing warm wine for the king this night. With a wave of his hand, Herod struck the tray out of Chuzah's hand and set it crashing down onto the steps below the dais: the sound like the roar of cymbals and the crashing of heavy bells. The intensity of Herod's wrath filled the room with a great uneasiness, an invisible haze that made the very air foul and hideous to breathe.

"Do these wise men seek to mock me?" Herod asked, still attempting to master himself after his sudden outburst. "We shall see what becomes of their Messiah now." The king rose from his throne and, with Chuzah following on behind him, left the palace hall.

Down into the dungeons went the king, with Chuzah following after him, torch in hand to light the way. Into the hallway between many dark, filthy cells walked King Herod; the prison guards stood at attention as he approached them. He made his way to the jailer and gave him a command. The man looked at the king in surprise, but did not question: people knew better than to question King Herod. One by one, the cells were opened and guards dragged prisoners out of the cells. These were no mere petty thieves or zealots, the radical patriots who opposed Herod and his Roman masters: these men were hardened criminals, murderers, men who feared neither God nor His Torah. One by one they were assembled before Herod, who stared each and every one of them down with his intense, dark eyes. They defiantly met his gaze, thinking that they had seen the ugly side of life and this potentate knew nothing of what they knew.

"You are all condemned men," the King said to them. "By your hands, many mothers have been robbed of their children. Now, your King commands that you do your duty once again...save that your prey will be slightly younger than you are accustomed to. Each of you will go into Bethlehem and kill every child you find: male or female, from newly born to two years of age. Do this, and you will earn the gratitude of your King...and perhaps more. Now make haste and do not return to me until you have done this deed!"

With that, the guards began ushering the criminals out of the dungeon and through the halls that would lead them outside of the palace. Chuzah was horrified to hear what had been ordered. Not since Athaliah bat-Ahab ruled in Jerusalem as queen had such a horrible deed been done in Judah; more than this, it hearkened back to the time of the elders and sages of blessed memory, when the male children were put to death by the order of Pharaoh of Egypt.

But Herod was not done; from the dungeon he returned to the throne room and had Chuzah summon the captain of his soldiers. In short time, the captain stood before his king sitting upon the throne.

"Captain," Herod said. "I have a task for you. Take your men and go to the regions outside of Jerusalem and around Bethlehem and kill every child that you find: male or female, from newly born to two years of age."

The captain of the guard bowed and left the room. Years of service to King Herod had broken any qualms this man may have had about killing babies. Yea, the people of the east had no greater qualms about killing children than their Greek or Roman counterparts: conquering armies slaughtered man, woman, and child with reckless abandon. Yet even as the captain departed on his grim task, the aghast Chuzah dared to ask this one question of his king.

"Your Majesty," he said. "Far be it from your servant to question your orders. Only, well, if I am correct, the One you seek is in Bethlehem. Wherefore is the need to go into the other areas around Bethlehem?"

"Surety, my dear Chuzah," Herod replied. "If the wise men were mistaken, or if they secreted the child to a nearby town, then we will be thorough in our slaught..." With that, he winced, placing his hand upon his stomach. At first, no more to his mind than a mere issue of indigestion, not uncommon among the rich diets of nobility. But in truth, as time would tell, it was the first sign of the punishment of the God whose Son he sought to destroy, as well as retribution for all the others who would die.

* * *

In the little han in En-Karim, the sleeping Elisabeth was awoken by a very troubled-looking Zechariah. He was already dressed and bore a lamp in its hand, lit and casting shadows upon his face.

"Wake up, my love!" the old man urged.

Elisabeth sighed, tossing in her sleep. She was old, and welcomed sleep: when she married Zechariah many years ago, she had longed to have children. Now that she had a son, she longed for sleep: raising a child was hard and tiring work, especially a crawling two-year old babe.

"Wake up!" Zechariah urged. Elisabeth rolled over, her eyes creaking open wearily in the blistering light of the lamp. She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand and her eyes with her other hand.

"What's wrong, Zechariah?"

"Take John," Zechariah ordered. "Go into the mountains and hide there."

"Hide? What? Wait, Zechariah, what is all this?" Elisabeth asked.

"King Herod is going to kill him and all the children of a certain age!" Zechariah replied. Elisabeth cried out, covering her face with her mouth and silently weeping. Zechariah approached her and placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Weep not, my love. But make haste, and take John with you! Go into the mountains!"

"Where will we go?" Elisabeth asked.

"Do not tell me where you go," Zechariah replied. "They will surely come for me, looking for the child, and when they do, I will be able to answer truthfully before _HaShem_ that I do not know where he is."

"And where will _you_ be, my love?" Elisabeth asked, rising up and reaching for her clothes.

"In the streets of En-Karim," Zechariah replied. "Perhaps I can reason with these soldiers and save some of the children of this town."

"No!" Elisabeth exclaimed. "They will surely kill you!"

Zechariah placed the lamp in an alcove on their wall, then wrapped his arms around Elisabeth and kissed her forehead. Instinctively, she cradled her face against his neck, feeling the coarse, curled hair of his long, gray beard.

"My love," Zechariah whispered. "I have loved you from the moment we were bonded in marriage before _HaShem_. All of these long years, I have cherished you more than ten sons. And you have given me a son from _HaShem_ , to prepare His people for the Messiah. No man could love you more than I." As he spoke, there were tears in his eyes as he could begin to fathom what his next decision would mean. He would never see John take his first steps, or speak his first words, nor would he beam with pride as he read from the Torah on his _bar-mitzva_ h, and on every Sabbath he was called to read, nor would he be there when he came to manhood and began his mission of heralding the Messiah.

"But I am a servant of _HaShem_ , and the keeper of His flock. And as the shepherd lays down his life for his flock, so must I defend the innocent from the wolves."

With that, he parted and, walking over to the baby's crib, lifted John up out of his sleep. He held his son for a moment, then planted a kiss upon his cheek, before turning about and placing him in Elisabeth's arms. Elisabeth finished dressing herself and wrapped her shawl around John, so that he was concealed. Zechariah then rushed her out the door and into the night. Even as she left, he sent up a prayer to the God of his fathers for her safety and the protection of her and the child.

* * *

The dawn had finally broken. Chaos had befallen the town of Bethlehem. Blood was in the streets. The death cry was everywhere. Joseph was suddenly awoken to the sound of horrified screaming. As his eyes opened, he saw a horrifying sight: Miriam lying on the ground, her face bloody, and a wicked-looking man leaning over the stone trough they had in their house to feed the donkey. From the midst of that trough he could hear a baby's voice crying. His heart dropped as he saw the wicked man had in his hand a sword that was being brought down to the manger. He tried to move, but found that he could not: he could only look on as the child was put to the sword. How could this be! The Son of God, put to death in a house in Bethlehem!

Even as the blade approached the trough, a strong hand seized the wrist of the wicked-looking man. Joseph immediately recognized the face and voice of the bearded man, whose very appearance seemed to blaze with fire as he spoke.

"Joseph, son of the house of David," said Gabriel. "Arise, take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt." To Joseph's relief, the angel threw the wicked-looking man aside as if he was made of straw. But his piercing eyes remained focused on him, Joseph. "Herod seeks to destroy Him. Now go, and remain there until I bring you word."

With a jolt, Joseph awoke on his mat. It was still dark. His breath came in ragged, relieved gasps. The night was still lying upon the little town of Bethlehem; he had to concede that it was only a dream. A dream, like the one he had had before, where this very angel appeared before and told him to take Miriam as his wife. That dream had come true, and surely this one would too. He rolled over on his mat and saw Miriam lying there, sleeping soundly: even her breath was intoxicating. In the dark, he got up and felt for the cradle he had made for baby Joshua; it was still there, and a little warm body was lying fast asleep, wrapped in His blanket. He was tempted to dismiss this as nothing more than the terrors of the night: but the fear still lingered inside him, refusing to leave his heart and mind.

"Joseph?" Miriam asked. "What is it?"

Suddenly the same protective spirit that had guided Joseph from that night in Nazareth to this very moment returned to him, fueled by the terror of the dream he had just witnessed. He reached for his clothes in the darkness.

"We have to go," he said. "Get dressed as soon as you can."

"Go?" Miriam asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Egypt," Joseph replied.

"Egypt!" Miriam exclaimed. "That's so far away! I thought we were..."

"There's no time to talk about this," Joseph replied. "Take Joshua, make sure He's hidden."

"Joseph, why are we going to Egypt?" Miriam asked.

"I've just had a dream," Joseph explained. "The angel of _HaShem_ appeared to me, and told me to take you and Joshua to Egypt: King Herod seeks to kill Him."

With a sudden cry, Miriam leaped off of the mat and instinctively wrapped her arms around Joshua, as if to shield Him from the darkness and the cruel intentions of their king.

"Not my son!" Miriam wailed, clutching the baby to her body.

"No, Miriam!" Joseph explained. "That's not going to happen, because we're going to Egypt. Now come, get dressed! I'll make sure to pack anything we need."

It took Miriam a while to register that Joshua was not about to die before she let Him go long enough to begin dressing herself for the journey: there was still upon her heart and mind the temptation to regard Joshua as 'her Son', as if she had some kind of control over the Son of the Highest. So it had been for these past several months, and now that set of mind was challenged. She knew who she was, and who Herod was: she knew that she could no more stop Herod than she could stop Rome, or keep the sun from rising every morning. She would not be able to save Joshua with her own power: only the power of the Most High God could save them. And now that power had given Joseph a dream warning of the danger to come.

Miriam now made haste to dress herself and prepare for the journey ahead of them, even as Joseph hurried to prepare himself as well. They would leave the rented house as it had been left the previous day: cleaned and empty. But as they prepared to leave, Miriam turned to Joseph with a look of shock on her face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We can't make it to Egypt," she said, concern in her voice. "We barely have enough food fit for a long journey!"

"Take what we can," Joseph said. "Leave the rest. There's no time!"

"But how will we provide for ourselves on the journey?" Miriam asked. "Oh, if only the land moved beneath us and a pillar of fire went before us, as it did in the days of our fathers long ago!"

Joseph suddenly had an idea. Fumbling around in the dark - they had lit no lamps, for fear of what was to come - he found one of the three gifts the wise men had given them. He opened one, and quickly closed it when he smelt the frank incense; the second one he opened and pulled out a soft, cold metal coin, which he brought to his mouth and bit.

"Gold," he told her. "We can pay for the journey with this gold."

"Praise be the God of our fathers!" Miriam exclaimed.

Frantically, they prepared to depart the house. The commotion awoke Joshua, who began crying. Miriam at once began gently singing and muttering " _sav lasav_ " to Him to calm Him down, while Joseph loaded what they would need for the journey onto their hardy beast of burden. The gold he insisted be taken out of the chest and placed hidden among themselves: three ornate chests would entice the attention of robbers on the road from Bethlehem of Egypt.

When everything was packed and loaded, Joseph led the animal outside of the house, then helped Miriam onto the donkey's back: she cradled Joshua in her arms, whispering softly to Him. They closed and locked the door of the rented house one last time, then turned and made their way into the darkness. Songs of praise and prayers to the God of their fathers were upon their lips as they hastened on the swiftest path that would lead them south out of Bethlehem, and westward along the old Philistine road down into Egypt. In the world outside, the murderers were already on their way through the town of Bethlehem, breaking into every house and seeking out children of between the ages of two and newborn for the slaughter. In the surrounding regions, the soldiers of Herod did their own foul business without remorse: Zechariah's protests would indeed earn him the sword and a martyr's death.

But even as the human king, wracked with the beginning pains of the sickness that would, in three years time, finally kill him, put into motion his plan to eradicate the Messiah before He came into His own, an Eternal King was watching over the grand plan that He had put into motion since before the beginning. The families of the earth had suffered long enough: salvation was to come unto them, and no force of flesh and blood or of the enemy would stop the coming of the True King and His herald. So it was that, even as the One True God, Jehovah in the Highest, the God of the Name, the Eternal, had brought His chosen prince Israel into Egypt and called him forth after his warfare and bondage were complete, He now led His only begotten Son, Joshua the Anointed, into Egypt, to one day call Him forth to live and grow, and to bring in the Kingdom prepared from the foundation of the world.

* * *

 **(AN: And there we go, the end of the beginning. That was a nice little story. I hope you all enjoyed it: I'm certainly sorry to end your Christmas on such a grim note.)**


End file.
